


Three to Gavotte

by mordelle



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Bisexual Character, British English, Complete, Digital Art, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, First Kiss, First Time, Happy Ending, Heartbreak, Heavy Angst, Multi, OT3, Pansexual Character, Post-Canon, Present Tense, Switch Aziraphale (Good Omens), Threesome - F/M/M, Top Crowley (Good Omens), Unplanned Pregnancy, aziraphale's pov, not unwanted though!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:47:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 34
Words: 57,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23135656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mordelle/pseuds/mordelle
Summary: Three years have passed since the thwarting of the End Times. Aziraphale has had every opportunity to tell Crowley how he feels about him. Still, his courage continues to fail him. Three words have been said, but not the ones Aziraphale has hoped for. Words have power. Words can liberate. Words can kill."I met someone…"Or...Aziraphale is put through the wringer when Crowley one day announces he's seeing someone and wants Aziraphale to meet them.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)/Original Character(s)
Comments: 500
Kudos: 182
Collections: Bittersweet Good Omens, The Good Omens Library, Tip Top Stories, Work from the M25 Discord members





	1. Three Words

**Author's Note:**

  * For [triedunture](https://archiveofourown.org/users/triedunture/gifts), [summerofspock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerofspock/gifts).



> This is COMPLETE. I will try to publish at LEAST 3 times a week.
> 
> I'm gifting this one to two of my favorite Good Omens authors here on Ao3. 
> 
> To SummerofSpock for inspiring me to up my angst game (Prepare thyself. This one is going to hurt so bad). 
> 
> And to my writing deity, whom I worship, Triedunture. For inspiring a filthy dream after I read their work, which gave rise to this mess, and for reminding me that one should be fearless as a writer (because Goddamn you have no shame! No shame, I say!) ANd I fuckin' love it. Oh, and for tricking me into the celebrity fic, reminding me you should always try everything once! Well, almost everything.
> 
> A humungous THANK YOU to my betas: Azeran and Brit-picker extraordinaire, IntergalacticSuperTwink!
> 
> There is HELLA ANGST in this one. I have warned you. I'm seriously about to start a collage of every instance I've been called a monster. 
> 
> I regret nothing.

There is no argument that words have power. Words have created and destroyed from the beginning of time. They can inspire the weary of heart and save lives. Words can cause pain and deliver a death sentence.

Aziraphale knows this. Not only does he have all the experience in the world to back up his opinion, he also owns a bookshop with a great many books. He's read them all. So, he knows without a doubt that a few simple words could change his life. Three words, to be exact. Three little words, spoken aloud to a certain demon, would utterly change his life.

The apocalypse had been stopped. Heaven and Hell had been thwarted. An angel and a demon could finally be friends out in the open, and maybe more. It could have happened, a closer bond that is, perhaps even a very humanly physical and intimate relationship. It was what Aziraphale wanted more than anything.

These are the thoughts that surface and mock him every single day since pulling the wool over their previous, respective sides. It's what he's thinking about now, on his lumpy sofa, in his dusty bookshop, three blasted years later. 

While he thinks about his cowardice, he uses his perfectly manicured yet trembling fingers to caress a long black feather delicately. It seems like it's all he thinks about, and as time consumes the days that pass by oh-so-quickly, so does Crowley consume his almost every waking thought. And those three little but profound words.

Aziraphale, Angel and Guardian of the Eastern Gate of Eden, Earth Principality – for Heaven's sake, well, he hates himself. He hates himself because there is not a single valid justification to prolong opening his mouth and just telling the owner of his heart how he feels. And, oh, he had relied on so many excuses over millennia.

One fear, in the early days, had been that the demon was trying to tempt him with the sole purpose of making him Fall. That was a good one to rely on for a very long time. 

Second, there was that he feared for himself and for Crowley. Especially Crowley. Apparently, Hell doesn't send rude notes. The thought of Crowley's destruction really kept Aziraphale in check for a good while.

The third excuse was fickle at best. If Crowley did not reciprocate Aziraphale's feelings, everything would be ruined.

Deep down, Aziraphale knew that Crowley would not abandon him. He might sleep away a century, but Crowley would come back. He always comes back. And now that they only have each other, certainly, Crowley would make an effort to pretend those three short words had never been said. Somehow, Crowley would make it right, as long as Aziraphale could hold it together for the rest of eternity.

But Aziraphale knows that Crowley wants him, would open his arms wide and catch him. He knows that Crowley would bend over backwards, walk on consecrated ground, and even stop time itself just to please Aziraphale. To make him happy. And, true, that is a form of love. That is the only way he could show it, with gifts, company, and outings but not words. Never words. Crowley cares about him, obviously. Crowley respects him. But can Crowley _feel_ love for him? Does Crowley have the capacity to love him as desperately as Aziraphale loves Crowley? Aziraphale has always been told that demons cannot love, not really. Was indulgence and regard enough for Aziraphale if that were true?

At this moment, Aziraphale would answer with a resounding ' _yes_ '. He can't take it anymore. He can't hold it in for much longer. And he has planned and planned! He wants everything to be perfect. The words are always ready on his tongue, but they never come out! Surely, a magical moment would come, the perfect moment, and the words would flow out naturally. Or better still, it would be Crowley who would utter them first.

But it's been three years since _the_ day, and Crowley has indeed spoken three words. Three little words that have entirely wrecked Aziraphale. His life has been upheaved because of those three words. Those terrifying, jagged, knife-like words that have brutally cut Aziraphale open and left him to bleed out on the dusty floor of his bookshop, alone.

_‘I met someone...’_

Crowley's admission rings clear in Aziraphale's mind. A new wave of fresh tears gushes out of him - not that the weeping has stopped. No, the tears have not ceased since those blasted little bells above his door chimed Crowley's exit. It must have been half a day already at least. His nose tingles. His eyes burn. His sobs sound worse by the minute. He can barely get the mantra he's been wailing to come out anymore. 

Words have power. Words can liberate. Words can kill.

_‘I met someone…’  
  
  
_


	2. Three Months

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting another chapter because the first one is teeny-tiny. And I love spoiling my readers rotten.
> 
> Thank you Azeran and IntergalacticSuperTwink for the beta and Brit-picking prowess!

Before.

"You can stay at my place if you like."

"Oh, I don't think my side would like that."  _ I shouldn't have said that. I shouldn't have said that. I want to take it back, but how? _

"You don't have a side anymore. Neither of us do. Like Agnes said, 'we need to choose our faces wisely.'"

The bus finally arrives and Aziraphale eyes Crowley's ginger head, wishing he could just send his thoughts right past those copper locks.

_ I love you, _ he thinks, squinting with the effort of trying to send the confession telepathically. It's ridiculous, Aziraphale knows this. He continues to bemoan internally at his lack of courage. He almost doesn't notice when his hand accidentally grasps Crowley's while reaching for the handlebar and taking his seat. 

Aziraphale nearly chokes on air when his eyes land on their clasped hands. He flinches away from Crowley's smooth, long fingers and regrets that too.

"Sorry!" Aziraphale squawks in an undignified manner.

Crowley manages a lazy smirk and shrugs. "I don't mind," he replies softly.

The words may have been spoken softly, but that doesn’t mean they weren't heavy. Heavy with meaning, with intention, with knowledge. It should have made things easier for Aziraphale. It should have been a breeze. In fact, Aziraphale can almost hear himself say...

"Oh? That’s wonderful, dear, because I've been terribly in love with you for millennia, and could happily hold your hand until the next century rolls around or until you’ve had enough. And if you're amenable to trying new,  _ human _ ways of expressing love, then, tally-ho and away we go! Yes, I'd absolutely love to stay at your place, in fact, I'm desperate for it and not because I no longer have a place to go, but because, I am in fact, desperate for  _ you _ in particular. But I'm rambling now, what say you?"

But Aziraphale does not say any of that. He merely nods stiffly then swallows those words down with a large and near-deafening gulp. 

* * *

After.

Crowley drums his fingers nervously on Aziraphale's mantlepiece. He hasn't taken a single sip of his whiskey, which is odd because one, he's been in the bookshop for about forty minutes and two, he asked for whiskey in the first place. He opens his mouth several times, and at first, nothing comes out, then a strange garbled noise emanates from his vocal cords before he finally just takes a large swig of his drink and says... 

"I met someone."

Aziraphale looks up from his near-empty tumbler and raises his eyebrows expectantly. He is waiting for Crowley to continue, but Crowley merely downs the rest of his whiskey without bothering to savour it, which scandalizes Aziraphale, of course. He's about to scold Crowley for his high offence, but the demon is looking into his empty glass as if it holds a portal to some unknown universe and he'd very much like to nosedive through it.

A little warning bell rings in Aziraphale's ears, but he pushes it aside, just like everything else that makes him nervous. "Is there more to that sentence or...?"

Crowley looks at Aziraphale, and his mouth drops open. He's silent for a time and Aziraphale wishes he could see his eyes because something is up and he'd like to help Crowley with whatever seems to be bothering him.

"Erm," Crowley says intelligently, "ngh, uh, yes?"

Aziraphale furrows his brow but places his glass on the end table and folds his hands in his lap, at complete attention. "Oh, my," he says suddenly with wide, fearful eyes, "you mean from..." he points to the floor.

"Wha' does tha- oh! No, no, no. Nothing new from Hell, no."

"What a relief, you had me worried there for a mo--"

"I'm seeing someone," Crowley blurts out like he might retch.

The bells come back, and they ring so loud that even Aziraphale, the master of avoidance, can't ignore them. They stare at one another for a long moment before the words finally unscramble in Aziraphale's mind.

"You mean you," Aziraphale begins slowly and softly, "are with someone," and here he has to clear his throat twice before he can continue, "romantically?"

Crowley licks his parched and chapped lips and nods slowly.

Oh, the bells might as well take up permanent residence in Aziraphale's head, because now he doesn't want to hear this. Not one bit. 

"Oh."

Crowley sets his glass down and approaches the angel slowly. "You alright?"

Aziraphale shakes off his stupor, grabs his tumbler, and stands. "Yes, of course, why wouldn't I be?" He walks to the cabinet that contains more booze. 

He hears Crowley stammer a bit before he speaks again. "I just thought I should tell you..." he trails off.

"How long?" The whiskey sloshes out of the bottle and into Aziraphale's glass.

"What?"

He fills the tumbler past the acceptable amount for company. "How long have you been  _ seeing _ this  _ person _ ?"

Another long silent moment passes.

"Three months."

Aziraphale is suddenly quite determined to get absolutely  _ pissed _ . He wonders why he asked that question. He also wonders why Crowley is telling him this. Never in all of their history has Crowley ever talked about his romantic trysts. Ever. Until now. Something is different, and Aziraphale's mind is reeling, trying to figure out what this all means but coming up empty.

"Well," Aziraphale rasps after taking another extra-large, burning swallow of his drink, "cheers then." He lifts his glass in Crowley's direction without looking at him and downs the rest of the spirits. 

"Aziraphale, I didn't - that is, I don't--"

"That's good, Crowley. Jolly good." With a minor miracle, Aziraphale manages to pour more whiskey with his trembling hands without spilling a single drop.

"Good?" Crowley asks, an incredulous tone in his voice.

"Yes, of course," Aziraphale doesn't hesitate but also doesn't turn to face him. "Nothing wrong with a bit of companionship, especially now that you only have me to pass the time with."

"Pass the -!" Crowley interrupts himself with a sigh and Aziraphale can hear the demon's hands slap against his trousers. "Yes." Now he just sounds exhausted. "Yes. Companionship. Good. Good, good, good. Glad you're cool with it," he mumbles.

Aziraphale watches the demon walk past him toward the door. The bells have been replaced by a giant gong, banging away at his stupid brain. "Off so soon?" He asks politely, but also needing Crowley to get the hell out of his shop as soon as possible. 

Crowley whirls around. "Yep!" He pops the  _ p _ and shrugs. "Date night." He places his hand on the doorknob but doesn't exit. "I want you to meet her," he says to his boots.

Aziraphale thanks the almighty that Crowley is not facing him because he's sure that whatever blood was left in his face has drained down his throat, and threatening to choke him.

Her. A woman. He wants to know more and nothing at all at the same time.

"Whatever for?" Aziraphale manages to say just above a whisper.

Crowley takes a long breath. "Because you're my best friend and I want my best friend to meet my girlfriend. It's not unheard of, you know?" He sounds a bit frustrated and definitely uncomfortable.

_ Best friend. Girlfriend. _

Aziraphale has to swallow a few times to moisten his mouth and speak. "Of course. Would be my," he fights for words, "pleasure."

"Good," says Crowley with a nod. "I'll set something up and give you a ring with the details."

Aziraphale blinks three times. "Splendid."

Little bells chime as Crowley takes his leave.

Aziraphale feels cold.

  
  
  
  



	3. Three Minutes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just know there will be lots of pain... for a while... a long while...
> 
> Insta folks: You're almost done with the fic!!!! Two more chapters! Can't wait to know what you think!
> 
> Discord folks: Thank you for being so supportive and just plain awesome!
> 
> Thank you to the super beta's: Azeran and IntergalacticSuperTwink!

Before.

Crowley's flat is very... well, Crowley. Aziraphale meanders around slowly, taking it all in, or at least pretending too. He has no idea how this night will go. It's not as if he hasn't imagined something like this, obviously not to this extent, but he's imagined something along these lines. You know, something like, "Oh, dear! Only one bed! Blast this hotel service, I know I booked double beds." Or, "Oh, my. Tsk, tsk, tsk. It appears we'll have to live together for some years in a confined space. And look at all this wine! Can't let it go to waste. No, no!" Or, "Goodness me, were we just slipped a lust potion in our tea with nowhere else to go but back to your place? Just to, you know, wait this out?"

Preposterous.

Aziraphale shakes his head to rid himself of the stupid fantasies he's dreamt up over the years. Crowley finally emerges from his kitchen and Aziraphale startles, even though Crowley is half a room away and approaching languidly. 

Aziraphale's nerves are shot. 

For one, the world almost ended. Everything he holds dear nearly vanished in one afternoon. He was unpleasantly discorporated and had to  _ mingle _ with human essence. Let us not forget that his bookshop had gone up in flames. And now, well, now Heaven and Hell were certainly plotting his and Crowley's demise.

Crowley places a tea tray on the table in the living room and sits on the pristine, leather sofa. He hunches over and prepares Aziraphale's cuppa just the way Aziraphale likes it. Aziraphale can already tell it will be perfect. The smell of scotch makes Aziraphale's nostrils flare, and the scent finally beckons him to the couch. Being half a room away, he prepares himself in advance to sit as near as possible to the love of his life without fainting. Crowley is completely unaware of the turmoil within the angel's being.

He sits. He watches Crowley pour the spirit into his own tea without really paying attention to what he's doing. He just stares at the demon’s slender fingers at work and swallows hard.

Crowley motions to Aziraphale with the bottle of scotch, eyebrows raised in question over his sunnies.

"Yes, please," Aziraphale nods and tries not to fidget or nervously play with his ring.

Crowley passes the bottle to Aziraphale. Aziraphale takes said bottle from Crowley, fingers brushing lightly against his, he quickly puts the bottle to his lips and throws his head back.

"That was for the tea, but I think you have the better idea," Crowley drawls with a half-smirk that just makes him look exhausted.

After a generous swig, Aziraphale pours some into his tea and sets the bottle down with a thud that echoes and bounces off the plain, grey walls.

"Okay," Crowley says after a slow sip from his cup, "I think it's time to talk..."

Oh, God, Aziraphale internally panics, is this happening now? He hopes so. He hopes not.

"... about this witch's prophecy."

"Oh." He feels disappointment and relief all at once. "Yes. It's quite obvious, really."

Crowley scoffs. "Yeah? You figured it out already, clever angel?"

_ Oh, Heavens, _ that did something to Aziaphale's insides.

"We switch faces."

Crowley frowns in contemplation. "And how do we do that?"

_ Ah, yes, _ Aziraphale clears his throat and mumbles the answer into his teacup. "Switch corporations entirely."

Crowley stares at the wall in front of him for so long that Aziraphale thinks he may have fallen asleep sitting up.

"That makesss, sense," Crowley finally pronounces. 

The demon pulls at his collar and Aziraphale can see the skin on the back of his neck is red. The angel empathizes.

They sit in silence, not entirely awkward but also not comfortable.

"When should we do this  _ switcharoo _ ?" Asks Crowley.

"As soon as possible." Aziraphale sighs loud and long. "Tonight."

"For how long?"

"Until they try to kill us, I gather."

Crowley's head snaps to Aziraphale, but Aziraphale does not turn to face him. He can see out of his periphery that Crowley is distressed but also trying to hide it.

"Playing with fire," Crowley whispers.

"Indeed. And I assume water as well, of the holy kind that is."

"Then," Crowley waves a hand in front of him, "we'll survive." The demon almost smiles. Almost. "What if," he frowns again, "what if they try something else?"

"I don't think Anges Nutter would warn us of our fate just to let us expire by other means, of which I cannot think of any."

"What if they find out what we did?"

"Then I suppose we'll cross that bridge when we get there." Aziraphale nods once with determination. "Together."

A soft smile finally creeps onto Crowley's face. "Together," he replies warmly, affectionately.

* * *

After.

Aziraphale is early. Three hours early. There is no way in Heaven, Hell, or Earth he is going to be caught off guard, not now. Not on this day. The cafe Crowley has chosen has a quaint outdoor area. Not too many people, not too few. Enough humans chit-chatting to fill awkward silences, of which Aziraphale thinks there will be many. Not too many humans to witness a possible epic, angelic meltdown, which Aziraphale thinks might indeed happen because he feels like retching and he hasn't even eaten since he was told  _ the news _ .

Aziraphale looks at his pocket watch. Three minutes. Three minutes 'til the little hand will declare the time that Crowley specified to be here. Three whole minutes to have whatever the equivalent is of a human panic attack. He's had three days to stew in all kinds of disastrous scenarios. 

What if Crowley's lady friend was a demon? Or an angel? That would be the worst-case scenario, for sure. Who knows how long this  _ relationship _ will last if the woman is of the occult or ethereal kind. Better that she be human. Even if she was younger than Crowley's corporation's appearance, she'd have about fifty to sixty years left, and then Crowley would be a free demon again. And Aziraphale will not dawdle this time. No, sir. He plans to snatch Crowley by the ear, tug him into a secluded area, and kiss him. That's the new plan.  _ Well, _ he thinks suddenly,  _ I'll have to give him time to mourn - if he'll mourn. Of course, he'll mourn. In his own way but still, it's the respectful thing to do.  _

He's being selfish, and he knows it. He doesn't care. Some  _ woman _ stole his demon right from under him, and as much as Crowley would like them to be  _ friends _ , Aziraphale already hates–no, angels don't hate–he already has a very poor opinion of this person.

"Aziraphale?" A feminine voice calls out.

The angel jumps a little at his name being called and looks around to see who has addressed him. Crowley is nowhere to be seen, and there is a woman just a few paces away waving and then heading his way.

Aziraphale can't help but sit there, dumbfounded, even though he prepared -  _ blast! _

The first thing he notices is she's human.  _ Thank Christ _ . 

The second thing he sees is,  _ she's gorgeous.  _ In every sense of the word, this woman is beautiful. She doesn't appear to be older than thirty. She's conventionally pretty with her dark chocolate hair that matches her eyes, and smooth olive skin. Her cheekbones are high, and she has a small pointed chin. Her smile is brilliant and warm even if her bottom teeth are bit crooked, which Aziraphale only notices because he's looking for every single flaw he can find. She's wearing casual but trendy clothes that she may or may not have pulled directly from Crowley's wardrobe–minus the blouse but only because it's green. She is short, thin... fit. 

A polar opposite of himself.  _ That's immensely disconcerting. _ He was hoping she was blonde with light eyes, and, well, softer. That would have made things a bit easier because it would be a sign that Crowley had not moved on from him altogether.

She rushes to his table, and the angel has enough fortitude to stand, smile politely and pull out a chair for her. The human ignores his manners and poise by launching herself at him, embracing him, and kissing him on both cheeks. All the while, a wave of love washes over him.

Aziraphale stammers and blushes and catches sight of a grinning Crowley staring right at them and taking all the time in the world–which there is a lot of it now that Armeggdom has been stopped–sashaying his way to their table ridiculously.

She's so friendly and warm and smells so lovely _ \- good lord, is that Coco Mademoiselle she's wearing? _

She's perfect.

He hates her. He hates her–he hates her–he hates her. 

Because she's perfect. He already knew that before meeting her. Crowley had chosen her, after all. This dainty, sweet, young woman was absolutely perfect for Crowley in every way.

"I'm Angelique! It's so lovely to meet you finally!"

_ … _

_ Crowley, you absolute bastard. _


	4. Three Breaths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh, I hope everyone is staying safe and healthy! Things are getting kind of nuts out there.
> 
> Thanks for the kudos and comments! Now, I can't promise that every chapter will have art. But, if you are inspired to make some for this story, BY ALL MEANS. I'll swoon! And I'll make sure to credit and link to your work!
> 
> Thank you beta's: Azeran and Brit-picker extraordinaire, IntergalacticSuperTwink!

Before.

The process of switching corporations was easy. No different from slipping into one right off the production line. But Aziraphale had no doubt it would be a natural exchange. What did surprise him was how easily Crowley took to his new role. 

It was odd, looking at a face or hearing a voice that you have adopted as your own for so long being puppeteered by someone else. Someone else who apparently knows your cadence and all your quirks to perfection. It was more than odd; it was embarrassing. Even more mortifying when that someone is trying to teach you how to "walk" across a room in a bodily defying fashion. When that someone has your previous hands on your unfamiliar, sharp hips. When that someone is the object of your affections. 

Aziraphale was willing himself not to sweat, and it was working for the most part. Crowley's voice coming out of his mouth was quite... a thing...

"You're doing fine," Crowley consoles, "just need to scowl more, I think, and it's perfect."

Aziraphale deepens his frown.

Crowley claps his chubby hands together and smiles.  _ I didn't know I could smile like that, quite debonair if I do say so myself.  _ "That's perfect, angel."

Aziraphale chuckles nervously. _ Never heard it quite like this before.  _ "Thank you."

"Ah-ah!" Crowley shakes his head disapprovingly. "The demon, Crowley, does not say 'thank you.'"

"Well, the angel, Aziraphale, does not call the demon, Crowley, angel."

"Fair enough... Crowley." At the mention of his own name, Crowley blushes.  _ Goodness, please don't tell me that's what I look like when I blush. _

Aziraphale clears his throat and fidgets with his incredibly tight coat. "What shall we do now... angel?"  _ Lord have mercy! _ He could feel heat claw its way up his neck at the mention of the moniker. It sounds more like an endearment than ever to his new ears.

With mounting horror, he sees that Crowley's face is now completely scarlet. 

"Erm, wha-what would you like to do?" Crowley asks, sounding just as nervous as Aziraphale feels.

Aziraphale purses his lips. This is it. Here is the opening but Crowley has made a devastating mistake; he's given Aziraphale a choice. Aziraphale's new heart hammers in his chest. Had Crowley just taken the initiative, ordered him to come to his side, things would have turned out differently.   
  


* * *

After.

Before Aziraphale peels the woman off his person, he sends a mighty glare at the approaching demon who has the decency to look worried. Then he looks down at the petite beauty and smiles politely. 

"Enchantée," he gives Crowley a quick sideways glance, " _ Angelique."  _

The young woman erupts into a delightful giggle and takes the offered seat while Aziraphale tucks the chair under her. 

"Hullo, Aziraphale," Crowley drawls with a smug grin that Aziraphale wants to slap into the next century.

"Anthony," he replies tightly.

Crowley tugs on his collar and sits next to his  _ girlfriend. _ "These the menus then?"

"Aardvarks, actually," the angel responds matter-of-factly as he also takes his seat. Angelique is sandwiched between them, and her tinkling laughter rings out again.

Aziraphale is not amused, but he sends a smirk in Crowley's direction. "You've a lovely name," he says while still staring at Crowley pointedly.

Crowley seems to melt into his chair.

"As do you!" She sounds genuine, and Aziraphale thinks he likes her more than Crowley right now. No, he definitely likes her more than Crowley right now.

Aziraphale finally glances at the woman who is grinning from ear to ear. He feels another wave of affection flow toward him, and he tries his best to ignore it. Just because he likes her better than Crowley at the moment, doesn't mean he likes her or ever wants to. 

"It means angelic," Aziraphale supplies a bit pompously while placing his napkin on his lap. He can't help but send another loaded smile at Crowley. It's a smile that says  _ I know what you're up to, demon. I know  _ exactly _ what this is. _

Crowley lifts his menu, hiding his face from view.

Angelique flushes prettily. "Indeed, it does, and you have the name of an angel. I see that as a good omen that we'll be thick as thieves soon!" Before Aziraphale could splutter out a response to  _ that,  _ Angelique continues. "Anthony, Aziraphale, Angelique," chirps the pretty lady brightly, "we should have invited Anathema, even number of A's.

Aziraphale feels a jolt in his brain. He takes a breath and holds it in while he tries to process what was said.

"The scones look good," mutters Crowley as he continues to take sanctuary behind his menu.

"You and Anathema are acquainted?" Aziraphale finally asks on that breath he was holding. 

Chocolate brown eyes meet his. Aziraphale is struck by her piercing gaze. Her eyes are open, honest, and hold some kind of wisdom or secret knowledge that makes Aziraphale want to look away, but he doesn't. She's unusual, the whole situation is strange, and Aziraphale is off-kilter. He doesn't like this feeling, the uncertainty, being kept in the dark, and not knowing what to expect at every turn.

"Yes!" Angelique smiles broadly. "Crowley and I double date with her and Newt about once a week, and we've been over for game night a few times. They're a lovely couple." 

While the server greets them, there is something boiling in the pit of Aziraphale's stomach. It starts off hot and tar-like, bubbling and sticky, and then cools and hardens. Several thoughts clamour to take the forefront of his mind.

One: Not only has Crowley been keeping his relationship a secret, but he has also been  _ explicitly _ keeping it secret from  _ Aziraphale _ . He feels so utterly betrayed. Betrayed because Crowley is flaunting this new... whatever this is right in front of him and double betrayed because he flaunted her in front of Anathema and Newt first! Aziraphale wasn't even aware Crowley had kept in touch with the witch and witchfinder!

Two: Game night?! Crowley... attending a game night.  _ GAME NIGHT?!  _ This one was too much to process at the moment and is pushed to the side for later review.

Three: Crowley's  _ girlfriend _ just referred to her  _ boyfriend  _ as Crowley, not Anthony.

Aziraphale is barely aware of the server asking him what he'd like to drink. He's not sure what he's just ordered but the server nods and leaves. He realizes a bit late that Angelique has been talking and tries to catch up with whatever she's prattling on about.

"... and I just had to meet you! Practically had to beg Crowley to introduce us. He speaks so highly of you–"

"Oi, come  _ on _ !" Crowley whines with embarrassment. "Do not."

At that point, Angelique turns to Crowley, clasps his hand in hers and just beams at him. Aziraphale's breath gets caught in his throat for the second time. The warm affection she's bestowed on Aziraphale twice is nothing compared to the tidal wave of love that pours from her now. He swears he can see it glowing around her–he can almost taste it!

"You love playing the scrooge, but I know you," Angelique teases.

She's completely gone on Crowley. Positively and irrevocably in love with him. And although Aziraphale can't sense any love from Crowley in return–never has–the demon loses his scowl and smiles back at her.

Instantly, Aziraphale is thrown back to the beginning, when a demon smiled at him just like that. Open, bright... happy.

Aziraphale is going to be sick. 

"Excuse me," says Angelique apologetically. "I need to pop into the ladies room. Be back shortly!"

Crowley doesn't let go of her hand as she walks around him. "Did you choose anything?"

With a slight frown as she ponders on what to order, Angelique leans down and gives Crowley a gentle kiss on the lips. "Order for me?" She gives him an adorable pout. "You know what I like."

Crowley sways a bit in his chair like he's drunk on love, which he might be considering the amount of it being showered on him at the moment, then he kisses her knuckles and lets her go with a horrifying...

"O'course, love."

For the third time, Aziraphale's breath screeches to a halt.

Aziraphale is not going to be sick. 

He is going to discorporate. 

>

  
  
  



	5. Three "Obvious" Conclusions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I hope everyone and their families are healthy and safe. Health is number1. 
> 
> Here's me keeping busy and dropping another chapter for ya!
> 
> Always a huge thank you to my beta's: Azeran and Intergalacticsupertwink!
> 
> Here is some fanart of Angelique by [a_girl_with_a_pencil](https://www.instagram.com/girl_with_a_pencil__/) on Instagram!  
> 

Before  
  
  
What had Aziraphale expected? That Crowley would finally crowd him in a corner and have his way with him? He had hoped it would be that simple. Having the choice taken from him, made for him. Aziraphale knew he was not a very good angel by having thoughts such as those. Despite being a demon, Aziraphale knows without a doubt that Crowley would never do such a thing. 

Aziraphale's heart clenches and his stomach aches. Crowley is just staring at him, waiting, not saying a single word. The demon in the angel's corporation appears hopeful and collected, maybe even a bit coy. But Aziraphale could be reading this all wrong. Perhaps he sees what he wants to see. He closes his eyes and just focuses on Crowley's energy. He longs to feel just a spark of love or anything close to it, but he doesn't. He never has. It breaks his heart every single time, and that's when he comes to the obvious conclusion. He can’t. Aziraphale can't do this, whatever this thing is that Crowley wants from him.

The air is charged with tension, Crowley's aura curls around him in crimson swirls. It's the aura of a demon. Sometimes, it's bright and fiery, and Aziraphale thinks that means Crowley is happy or excited. He doesn't think demons know real happiness any more than they can love. His energy now is close to the vest.

"Aziraphale?" 

Aziraphale opens his eyes and sees that Crowley's expression is guarded with a tinge of concern. What was it they were talking about? Oh, yes, what to do next. Crowley had asked him what he'd like to do now. The opportunity is there for the taking. All Aziraphale needs to do is reach out and claim it. The pressure is too much. The uncertainty weighs heavily on his mind, as it always does in moments such as these. 

Could he be happy with Crowley as something more than friends, knowing or not knowing that the demon loves him as ardently as Aziraphale loves Crowley? He doesn't think he can. The lack of warm affection in the demon's aura makes him feel cold, and he knows himself. Aziraphale knows that he'll want more. He'll always want more. It's just how he's wired now. Complete indulgence. What will happen when Crowley eventually tires of their new arrangement? If Aziraphale goes to bed with him right now, he can never go back to how things were. And he can't stand that thought. He cannot lose Crowley.

"I think we should practice disguising our auras," Aziraphale finally suggests with a tremor in his voice. 

"Yeah, alright," Crowley concedes with a nod and then purses his lips. "Ang-Aziraphale..."

_Oh, no._

"Is there anything else you want to talk about?"

Aziraphale shrugs. "Can't think of anything else."

Crowley's sighs. "The world almost ended. Maybe we should get things off our chest or whatever people do when they think they're not going to survive something."

"Don't be ridiculous. We'll be fine."

Crowley's cherubic face falls. He opens his mouth to say something, but it never leaves his mouth.

"Right," Aziraphale claps his hands hard. "Let's get a wiggle on. Hiding auras is tricky business."

And that was that. 

The door of opportunity slams closed. 

Again.

* * *

After.

Aziraphale thought he was familiar with shock. After all, he has lived on the planet, disguised as a human, for quite some time. There were plenty of moments that left him mouth agape and eyes wide from a surprising turn of events.

But this...

This sensation goes beyond anything Aziraphale has ever felt. This is not just shock. This is not just sadness. This is not just confusion or anger. He can't find the right word for everything that's happening to him at this very moment.

_Love, he called her... love._

He feels like someone just shot a cannon into his gut from just a few paces away. That breath he was holding refuses to come out without sob attached to it, and Aziraphale cannot have that. He cannot show the insurmountable devastation that is threatening to utterly consume his entire being. That would be bad. Very bad.

" _So_ ," Crowley says a bit awkwardly, "first impression?" There is a bit of hope mixed into his words.

The busboy arrives and places their drinks in front of them. Aziraphale is staring at a speck of bird shit on the table that has not been adequately wiped away. He is immobile. He is silent. He is a statue. And no one, not even Crowley, would be able to read the blank expression he's wearing now.

The busboy leaves.

"Come on, you can say," Crowley says quickly with a suspicious glance over his shoulder. "You like her?"

Aziraphale only moves his eyes to meet Crowley's and Crowley must have noticed something in his look because he reels backwards with a furrowed brow. Aziraphale does not break eye contact as he bites down on his lip to keep his composure.

"What are you doing?" Aziraphale finally says quietly, coldly.

Crowley's jaw slacks a bit and he shakes his head in confusion. "I'm just asking--"

"She's head over heels in love with you. Did you know that?"

Crowley grips the table for stability, then leans in slowly. "You sensed that?" Crowley rasps. "With your," he waves his hand in the air, "angelic love radar or whatever?"

Aziraphale scoffs mirthlessly. "Of course I sensed it." Now, Aziraphale's tone turns heated. He feels angry. He feels hurt. He's about to say or do something he might regret, but he doesn't care. "She's completely besotted, her love for you is so overwhelming - it's _suffocating_."

"Huh," Crowley breathes. He collapses onto the backrest of his chair, and his arms fall to his lap. Judging by his silence and the flexing of his jaw, this news is significant. "Wow." He glances in the direction Angelique disappeared to. "She hasn't said it yet," Crowley murmurs.

Then Crowley smirks. He scratches his flushed neck in thought and his smile turns radiant.

Eyebrows almost disappearing under his blond curls, and his fists clenched, Aziraphale leans in and speaks through clenched teeth. "Yet? How _could_ you?"

Crowley's head snaps to Aziraphale, and he frowns. "How could I what? Introduce her to you?"

"How could you _do_ this to her?" Aziraphale hisses. It's not at all what he meant to say.

Crowley's eyebrows shoot skyward. "And what am I _doing_ to her?"

" _Tempting_ her! Playing with her heart only to throw it away like an insignificant piece of rubbish!" This is _so_ not about Angelique, but he's on a roll, so... Crowley's mouth drops open into a wide _O_ as Aziraphale continues his onslaught. "You're a demon through and through. Congratulations on your _conquest_ , you did a _fine_ job. Might earn you your best commendation yet." Aziraphale rips the napkin off his lap and throws it on the table. "I suppose you can take the demon out of Hell but can't take Hell out of the demon," he nearly spits with disgust.

A vein bulges on Crowley's forehead, his face scrunches up and turns red with rage. "It sounds like you’re _jealousss_!"

Aziraphale shoots out of his chair. "You're rid--"

"Ridiculous, yesss, I already know that. How could I ever forget it? You love to remind me at every opportunity." Crowley is glaring at Aziraphale above the rim of his glasses. 

People are starting to stare, but the immortals pay them no mind. Aziraphale adjusts his sleeves. " _Angelique,"_ he sneers. "Really? A bit too on the nose, don't you think?"

"Coincidence," grouses Crowley.

"Ha! Of course, it is. Coincidence. Obviously."

"Obviously."

"Obviously what?" Angelique's voice causes them both to jump.

They turn to face her, and Aziraphale feels his heart clench. The poor girl looks like a puppy who's just been kicked to the curb. Her chest is heaving, and her eyes are shining with unshed tears. How long had she been standing there? How much did she hear? It doesn't matter. Just because Aziraphale lashed out, doesn't make what he said untrue. What the hell is Crowley thinking? She's mortal. It would never work. It would most certainly lead to a devastating heartbreak, and it would certainly not be Crowley's heart doing the breaking.

Crowley stands so quickly that his chair topples over. "Aziraphale has pressing _issues_ to attend to,” he says tightly, then his tone grows soft. “We can stay or go, whatever you like, love."

That word again. 

Angelique looks from demon to angel and then at the people staring at them. "I was really looking forward to the scones, but..." she nods at the ogling crowd.

Crowley surveys their surroundings. "Right." He snaps his fingers, and the people are instantly in a dazed state. "Nothing of interest happened here, and you'll also learn to mind your own fucking business in the future." He snaps again, and everything goes back to the way things were before the debacle. 

Angelique witnesses the whole show without even raising an eyebrow. Aziraphale is utterly stunned, and his head nearly implodes when Crowley dramatically removes his glasses to clean them on his shirt to drive the point home.

The girl _knows._

  
  
  



	6. Three Apologies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for sticking around, for the comments and kudos, they really mean a lot to me! 
> 
> I'm working on an original work. It's still in the early stages of development but if you've read Bless the Fallen, then you might like this one too. For now, I'm calling it Creatures and Divides. It's a fantasy romance. The main characters were born of Azirath and Crowley from Bless the Fallen. The characters are Andros and Stolas. A Werman (a type of human but magical race) and an Incubus tribe leader. So, you can imagine... lol
> 
> Thank you Azeran and Intergalacticsupertwink for all the beta work! This would all be one helluva mess without you!
> 
> Now, ON WITH ANGST!

Aziraphale blinks out of his stupor only to find himself at the bookshop. How he got here, he has no clue. He is too overwhelmed with emotions, and he has no idea what to do with himself. So, Aziraphale just continues to stand there. Eventually, the front door bursts open so hard that the bells above it shoot across the room, nearly hitting Aziraphale in the face.

Crowley is standing straight for once, and his hands clench into fists in quick succession at his sides. His lips are pursed so hard that they're not even visible. Crowley is furious. Aziraphale doesn't need to see his aura to know it. He can feel the demon's rage coming off of him in hot waves.

Crowley lifts a finger and juts it in Aziraphale's direction, shaking his head, and taking a hissing breath through his flared nostrils like he's about to give the angel the lecture of his immortal life. A series of garbled noises can be heard rumbling in his throat, but the demon says nothing. He growls like a rabid dog, turns on his heel and stalks back out the way he came.

The angel squints, trying to see if Crowley plans to come back. He hopes he doesn't. When there is no sign that the demon intends to return, Aziraphale bends down and picks up the bells. He walks sluggishly to the front door and reattaches them with a minor miracle. Then the angel makes his way to the backroom and collapses into his favourite chair. It groans under his weight, the weight of his corporation, maybe even the weight of his self-loathing. He thinks he should be crying. It's one of those moments, isn't it? Shouldn't there be tears? But he’s too strung out to cry, he realises.

Maybe an hour or so passes, he's not sure, but Aziraphale is still sitting there when he hears the unmistakable sound of Crowley's Bentley screeching to a halt in front of his bookshop. He doesn't bother getting up. He knows Crowley will find him. 

The door opens and slams shut, the sound of bells crash against trembling walls. "I'm back, you bastard! Where are you?! We need to have  _ wordsss _ !" Crowley yells. 

Aziraphale sighs tiredly and pinches the bridge of his nose, waiting as Crowley's boots stomp in his direction. Crowley slides into the room dramatically, and Aziraphale doesn't even look up.

"What. The. Fuck.  _ Aziraphale _ !? What in Hell's name--" Crowley brings two pairs of fingers to his temples and takes a deep breath. Then he points down at Aziraphale and shakes his head disapprovingly. "You have no right, no right–"

_ Yes, that's true, isn't it?  _ Aziraphale has no right to be angry or jealous, he realises with despondency. He’s had every opportunity. 

"I'm sorry," Aziraphale interrupts Crowley's tirade, making Crowley backpedal in shock.

"What?"

Aziraphale looks up at Crowley briefly and shrugs. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, no!" Crowley wags his finger. "No. I have a speech. I rehearsed it. You're not going to apologise until you've heard everything I have to say!"

Aziraphale's heart quickens. He doesn't want to hear whatever it is that Crowley has to say. He has an inkling as to what it is, and he's dreading it, but he's too tired and shocked to fight, so he sits there and stares at Crowley's shoes.

"She  _ cried _ , Aziraphale! You bastard. I should - I dunno," he flails his arms around wildly and begins to pace, "punch you in your holy face, or-or-or, whatever the Heaven boyfriends are supposed to do in this situation!" He pauses his frantic strides and spins around to face the angel again. " _ Tempting _ her!? Is that  _ really _ what you thought? Were you  _ really  _ defending her honour, oh angel of the Lord?! Because you did a shit job of it!" Crowley points out the door. "Let me tell you something. She is a good person–she is good, better than! She didn't deserve that– that woman is a–"

"Please don't say it," Aziraphale pleads softly because it would be too much to bear. 

Crowley frowns. "What? Don't say,  _ angel?"  _ He scoffs. "Oh, don't worry, I  _ won't _ . Didn't even cross my mind. Know why?!"

"Crowley, please," Aziraphale's voice cracks and he covers his mouth quickly.

"She's a  _ saint! _ "

Crowley pauses, huffs and seethes in place before he finally deflates. "Six thousand years. Six thousand bloody years, Aziraphale. That's how long you've known me." There's a slight tremor in his voice, and he swallows hard before continuing. "And yet, it's like you don't know me at all." Crowley chokes on a sob and turns away, bringing a fist to his forehead and groaning. "Fuck."

"That's not true," Aziraphale whispers. "I was just–I didn't–"

"It doesn't matter," Crowley replies. He drags a hand down his face, fixes his sunglasses that have gone awry, and turns to the door. "I don't need an apology from you. Never have. I've had millennia to get used to the cruelty of angels–"

"Crowley!"

"Angelique is the one you owe an apology to, and you  _ will _ apologise if you want anything to do with me."

"I–"

Crowley holds up a hand to shut him up. It takes him a few moments to formulate his next words. "This isn't a  _ conquest _ . I did not  _ tempt _ her. If anything, she tempted  _ me _ ! The woman is  _ persistent,  _ and I never intended for this to happen, but it did. I told her everything before getting into this.  _ Everything _ ." Crowley sighs and his tone grows warm and soft in a way that Aziraphale has rarely seen. "She still wanted me anyway."

Aziraphale is certain there is a knife in his chest. This hurts. It hurts like Hell. "I'm sorry." What else can he say right now? In the state they are in, he doesn't have many words he can offer.

"I already told you–"

"I will apologise to... Angelique." Though he knows he acted poorly, he doesn't care for Angelique's feelings, not really. He accused Crowley of horrible things because he was hurt.

For years, it was just easier for Aziraphale to believe that Crowley had ulterior motives, or could never do any real good because of what he was; a demon. Lashing out kept Crowley away, even though he always came back. 

How many more times was he going to do this to his best friend, who had proven himself time and time again? Crowley never deserved that kind of treatment. Aziraphale counted himself lucky that Crowley stayed by his side, even after everything. He knows he can't repeat mistakes. He needs to fix this.

Crowley hangs his head, and his shoulders relax a fraction. "She's a part of my life now. Obviously, it won't be... for very long, but I'm going to make it..." he clears his throat of building emotions, "count. You can accept it, or you can... wait it out. It's up to you, but know this," Crowley stands a little taller, "I want you..."

Aziraphale's breath hitches and his heart nearly stops pumping altogether. 

"...I want you to stick around. Okay? That's the truth of it. I never wanted this to affect our friendship. It's why I didn't tell you at the start of it. But now you know. There. That's it. That's all I've got to say." Crowley sniffs loudly and raises his eyebrows expectantly.

Aziraphale nods. "I want to... stick around." It might be a sign he's a masochist, but he cannot lose Crowley. Not over a human who will be here and gone in a blink of an immortal's eye. "I'll make it up to you. Just tell me how."

Crowley shrugs. "Get along with my girlfriend."

With a big inhale, Aziraphale nods emphatically. "Of course. Of course, I will."

"Yeah?" Crowley seems a bit sceptical but hopeful.

Aziraphale responds with a tight smile and a soft, "yes."

_ This is going to be a bloody nightmare, but it will be a quick nightmare.  _ For the first time ever, Aziraphale is grateful that Crowley can feel no love.  _ It'll be fine. All will be well and back to how things were soon. _

_ It'll be fine. _

If there is anything Aziraphale is best at, it's lying to himself.

  
  



	7. Three Weeks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well! I got some team Crowley and some team Aziraphale! lol I wasn't expecting such a stark divide!
> 
> Let's see how things change in that regard as the story continues.   
> ::smiles diabolically:: 
> 
> Thank you beta's Azeran and Intergalacticsupertwink!
> 
> Your comments always make my day!

Time has passed, three weeks to be exact. Aziraphale hasn't once heard from Crowley, and it is killing him. He figures Crowley just needs time to cool off, and it's his usual Modus Operandi after all. Aziraphale should not be worried. But he putters gloomily about the bookshop anyway, attending and not attending customers as he sees fit as per usual. Nothing has changed, and yet everything has. The days seem bleak, and Aziraphale has to remind himself that it's not the end of the world. He would know. 

What if Angelique doesn't want anything to do with Aziraphale after the fiasco? Aziraphale hopes she doesn't, but he fears that Crowley will cut him out of his life for a handful of decades if that's the case. The thought of that makes him feel cold and alone. They'd seen much less of each other over the course of history, but since meeting so often during the eleven years leading up to Armageddon and then after, he can't bear this separation much longer. 

For the umpteenth time, Aziraphale picks up the phone and goes to dial, then drops the receiver. He rubs his stinging eyes and thinks about closing up and making some hot cocoa when the bells jingle above the entrance of his shop.

Aziraphale sighs heavily and rolls his eyes. "We're closing!" 

Not that people care. They usually ignore his attempts at stopping them from entering, like now. He can hear tentative footsteps approaching. Aziraphale is about to use a miracle to get rid of the persistent customer when–

"Hi."

Aziraphale lifts his gaze, and his mouth drops open slightly in surprise.

"Angelique..." he removes his spectacles and stands. 

The woman looks stunning. As she wanders in, Aziraphale takes in her appearance again. She's dressed casually, her hair up in a messy bun, and yet she sticks out like a sore thumb in the dusty, vintage establishment, looking very posh and modern. Her mouth is open in wonder and awe as she looks at her surroundings. Her whole demeanour glows with purity and innocence, like that of a happy child. Aziraphale wonders if that's just the glow of a woman in love or maybe a person who has known no true hardships. Even someone in their twenties has experienced enough to dim that glow they were initially born with, so maybe it's the former.  _ Ugh _ . 

If Aziraphale weren't an angel, and prone to sense these things, he might be able to make up some foul predilections to actually, truly hate her. But his ill feelings don't last long. Instead of thinking ill will towards her, his tumultuous feelings taper out into the calm, if not tired, patience of an angel. He even manages a genuine close-mouthed smile when she looks at him with owl eyes and says,

"Am I in a fairytale?"

Aziraphale clasps his hands before him and tries not to worry at his ring. "I suppose it would feel that way. Angels, demons," he motions around him, "a time portal."

Angelique graciously laughs at his awful joke. She eyes a stack of books and reaches out as if to touch them, then freezes and sends a questioning look at Aziraphale. He nods his permission, and she beams like he has gifted her the finest jewels. It's clear she respects his books by the way she handles one as she opens it. She smirks and blows on the pages. A dust cloud bursts forth, and she laugh-coughs, trying to wave away the allergens.

Aziraphale scoffs with amusement but shakes his head. He doesn't want to like her. He just wants to tolerate her, maybe be kind, but that's it.

"Did you know," Angelique says as she gently places the book back, "that when people are allergic to dust, they're actually allergic to dust mite excrements?" 

"I did not," says Aziraphale as he looks around with a frown. He suddenly feels a desire to clean.

Angelique almost closes the space between them entirely when she gasps, stops and soaks up his appearance unabashedly. "You really are an angel," she whispers. "I swear I can almost see a halo."

Aziraphale unsuccessfully tries not to blush and then dims down his aura. "Must be quite disappointing."

Her smile fades, her eyes widen, and she shakes her head emphatically. "Not at all!" She reaches him, the counter keeping her out of his personal space. Gently, Angelique places a small bag on the counter. "I, uh, I brought," she pushes it toward Aziraphale, "a peace offering?"

"Oh, goodness," Aziraphale waves his hand, dismissing her gift, "that's not necessary, dear girl. Really, in fact, it is I who should be--"

"Crowley says that you'd like them," she worries at her bottom lip and pleads with her eyes.

Aziraphale finds that he cannot deny that face. Crowley never stood a chance. He opens the bag. "Scones."

"Chocolate chip." She smiles, hopefully.

"Thank you," Aziraphale manages to say softly. He feels utterly embarrassed, and he cringes at the thought of their last encounter. "Is Crowley on his way?" 

"Oh," Angelique grimaces a bit. "No. I wanted to clear the air before we all try being in a confined space."

Aziraphale chuckles mirthlessly. "Probably best." Aziraphale sighs and digs deep into his angelic reservoir of goodness. "I behaved quite poorly, to put it delicately, and I owe you an apology. Your first encounter with an angel and I made a mess of things in a very," he clears his throat, "not angelic way."

"Forgiven!" She says quickly and excitedly. "I don't blame you for, erm, being," she thinks for a moment, "apprehensive."

"Very tactful," he praises her. 

"Ah, well, I am known for my tact," she smirks mischievously.

"I don't doubt it in the least."

They both chuckle but it trails off into an awkward silence.

"I want us to be friends!" Angelique blurts out. " _ That _ was  _ not _ tactful."

Aziraphale smiles tightly. "I don't think it wise."

"Because I'm human or because I'm with Crowley?"

_Good lord._ Aziraphale takes a step back. "What?"

"Can't we try?"

Aziraphale suddenly feels trapped. "Angelique, you do not need my approval by any means–"

"But Crowley does."

Aziraphale fails to form words. He's about to tear his pinky finger off his hand. "Did he say that?"

"He doesn't need to."

Aziraphale flails his hands in frustration.  _ "Why?!" _

"Well, I'm not a Crowley expert, but I expect it's because he'd like his loved ones to get along. Hang out together without going at each other's throats?"

The blood in Aziraphale's face drains.  _ Loved ones _ . But Crowley didn't say it, she did. Aziraphale is overwhelmed with the desire to tell her that demons can't love, not the way she loves him. Maybe that will scare her off. But that would be awful... wouldn't it? But it would be for her benefit! Obviously, it would be painful news, but then she'd be free to give her heart to someone who could offer theirs in return. She wouldn't waste the precious short years of her life pining. But what of Crowley? How would he take the break up? Aziraphale wants to think that Crowley would be fine, maybe even relieved that Aziraphale did the inevitable for him.

Maybe he should go another route. 

Why, why, why, was Crowley doing this?! Didn't he know what this would do to him?

"Let me take you to lunch," Angelique pleads with a little jump, "we just need to find common ground, I know it, and then we can work from there. If we don't become friends, at least we'll be friendly. For Crowley, please."

Angelique was thinking of Crowley and Aziraphale was thinking of Aziraphale.  _ Typical _ , he admonishes himself internally.  _ What kind of angel are you? _

"All right," he relents, "for Crowley."

Angelique nearly squeals with joy and a flood of love nearly knocks Aziraphale back. "Thank you! Oh, I could kiss you!"

"Please refrain."

"How about Wednesday? I can pick you up at Noon?"

"That would be adequate." 

Angelique almost skips out the door but calls over her shoulder just before she exits. "You won't regret this!"

Aziraphale smiled sadly at her endearing optimism. "I beg to differ." 


	8. Three Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will there be a Crowley POV? Not in this version. This is strictly Aziraphale's pov BUT I do want to take this whole story from Crowley's perspective a bit later. I really need to hunker down and finish Searlus and the Sailor (I keep telling myself).
> 
> Thank you for all the comments and kudos and messages! The response has been so great! I really do hope the story holds up for you all.
> 
> Thank you Azeran and Intergalacticsupertwink for the beta and Brit-picking work!

Wednesday arrived quickly. Too quickly. Aziraphale didn’t bother to open the shop. Any minute now, Angelique would hop into his shop like a happy-go-lucky Peter Rabbit, and take him away from the safety of his bookshop and beloved ignorance. 

They were going to "hang out" and try to find common ground. What Aziraphale dreaded was that they would succeed in finding it.

There is a knock at the entrance. Aziraphale inhales deeply. "Just a moment!" He shrugs on his coat and plasters a polite smile on his face just before opening the door.

As expected, Angelique is as radiant as a rainbow. "Hi!" She exclaims excitedly, hopping a little in what looks like restraint. She looks like she wants to embrace him.

Aziraphale is hit with that familiar and overwhelming affection that he now associates with her, and it's hard not to smile genuinely. "Hello, dear lady."

Angelique blushes, and she ducks her head shyly. Peter Rabbit has nothing on this adorable, enchanting creature and Aziraphale sighs in defeat. At every turn, he sees why Crowley chose her, and now he wonders what Crowley sees in him. Maybe nothing, now that he has this girl. Perhaps he's finally come to his senses and sees Aziraphale wanting. He will never measure up to this seemingly perfect being.

That almost sends him back into the shop with his tail between his legs, but he's promptly snapped out of it when he notices her automobile. It looks... expensive. 

"My word," he breathes in awe of the shiny, sky blue, sleek, modern vehicle. "That looks like it goes... fast."

Angelique chuckles nervously. "It's a Tesla. It can go from zero to a hundred in one point nine seconds!"

Aziraphale turns slightly green at the thought. "So, you like to go fast too..." another point for Angelique on the who-is-better-for-Crowley board.

"In a safe environment, yeah. I'm not a demon on wheels though," she winks and graciously opens the passenger door for him. "That term takes on a _whole_ different meaning now," she shakes her head fondly.

Aziraphale feels entirely out of place in the sleek interior of the car, but he relaxes a bit once they start on the road. He sighs with relief at her careful and _considerate_ driving. Then he smiles when he realises that Pachelbel Canon in D Major is playing softly in the background. Angelique is trying her best to make him feel comfortable, and Aziraphale finds that he appreciates it very much. His mood brightens just a tad.

"So, I thought I'd make us lunch at my place."

Nevermind. Aziraphale's mood drops precipitously. "Oh?" He tries to sound unaffected but comes up short.

"Well, I want to be able to speak freely, you know, not sound like a complete nutter talking about angels and demons and the like." She laughs and eyes Aziraphale with worry. "Is that okay? We can go somewhere else."

Politeness wins over fear. "No, my dear, whatever you had planned is fine by me. I only wish I knew in advance. I would have brought a nice bottle of wine–"

"Oh, no! I am treating _you_ , and I have a feeling you will not be disappointed." She grins with a mischievous glint in her eye, which makes her look even more fetching.

_Oh, bother._

For a horrifying moment, Aziraphale thinks they are going to Crowley's flat, but then she turns down another street, and they arrive at a different building. When they walk into her flat, Aziraphale's eyes bug out.

It's a large open floor plan, and the flat is spotless. The decor leans on the side of modern with just a touch of vintage collections spread out tastefully.

Either Angelique is extraordinarily wealthy, or Crowley is doting on her with unreserved extravagance. 

He can't help himself. "What do you _do_ exactly?" He asks while she surprises him by placing her hands on his shoulders and helps him out of his coat.

Angelique's tinkling laugh rings out as she hangs his coat like some precious artefact, which it is. "I'm a dance instructor," she supplies. The grin is back, and she's waiting for him to press on with the obvious follow-up questions, waggling her eyebrows playfully. 

Aziraphale follows her to the massive kitchen and shakes his head. "I don't mean to pry." He absolutely does.

She waves off the polite words and gives him a knowing look. "I've always loved dancing," she says, grabbing various supplies and kitchenware from cupboards and drawers. "My parents told me that dancing was not going to be a viable career choice. They forbade me to pursue it." Angelique smirks, and her eyes twinkle with mirth. "I make incredible beans on toast. Is that okay for lunch?"

Aziraphale can’t help but chortle. It’s a good thing he didn’t have any high expectations. "Of course."

"Oh, good," she sighs with relief, "it's the only thing I know how to make." Angelique grits her teeth comically and shrugs. “I live off the stuff!”

Aziraphale barks out a laugh without meaning to. He can't help it. She's darling. "I'm sure it will be scrumptious then, since you must have perfected it over the years."

"This is true!" She swings a wooden spoon in the air. "Anyway! My parents told me that once I could make my own money, I could do whatever I wish with my life." She shrugged. "So, I decided to win the lottery."

Aziraphale raises his eyebrows and waits for more, maybe a sign that she's joking. But when Angelique supplies nothing else, he blinks in confusion. "You... _decided_ to win the lottery?"

"Yes, indeed. I was seventeen. First thing I did was buy out a dance studio. I've been teaching ever since. What's that, like, about twenty years ago? I'm not good with maths."

Aziraphale frowns and licks his lips in bewilderment. " _Decided_ to win the lottery. Am I in the presence of a witch or prophet?" He chuckles nervously.

Angelique gives him a wide smile. "I have incredibly good luck. Apparently, it runs in the family. It just seemed like the obvious and quickest thing to do to solve my dilemma. Win the lottery. So, I did."

After she commands a person named Alexa to play Mozart, Aziraphale looks around. "Is that your maid?"

Angelique laughs boisterously, and love shoots right into Aziraphale's heart. "I _adore_ you," she gushes after she gains some composure.

Aziraphale suddenly feels a tad too warm.

They chitchat about her upbringing for a small fraction as they eat the best beans on toast Aziraphale has ever tasted. The paired wine was, of course, exquisite. The only thing Aziraphale knows is that her family has always had good fortune in every regard, including long healthy lives. He tries not to scowl at that information. Inevitably she steers the conversation to their "common ground," Crowley.

"I would say he waltzed into my studio about three years ago, but he can't waltz. I don't think he knows that, so don't tell." She sniggers. 

Aziraphale can't help but picture Crowley swaying and stumbling about thinking he's the bee's knees. A smile creeps onto his face. "Crowley dancing," he breathes. "He did mention wanting to pick up a new hobby, but..." now he wonders why Crowley never told him he had started dance lessons.

Angelique must have picked up on his sudden sadness because she places her hand on his and smiles gently. "You should come to the studio sometime. I hear you enjoying dancing as well?"

Aziraphale's collar chafes as he discreetly slips his other hand free. He nearly snorts but then tugs on his waistcoat and preens. "I've been known to..." he thinks of the gavotte, " _bound_ around a dancefloor. That was a long time ago, however."

"Oh!" She wiggles in her seat and places her chin on her hands. "Tell me all about it! Please?"

Aziraphale barely needs the invitation. He opens his mouth and doesn’t stop talking until Angelique's phone chirps. She glances at it quickly then back at Aziraphale. "Sorry, it's Crowley."

"Oh, please, go on. I'm afraid I've talked too much as it is." Aziraphale is feeling peckish, and he looks around and realises it's dark out. "Goodness! What time is it? Oh, no, I really have rambled for far too long."

"Nonsense! You're incredibly interesting. All that history," she sighs adoringly, "it's just lovely, and you paint a very vivid picture. I almost feel like I'm there." 

The angel can’t help but preen at the compliments. He always did think he was an excellent storyteller. And how could he _not_ be _interesting_ , at least to a human, he’s been on this planet since the beginning! It occurs to Aziraphale that Angelique has barely spoken a word about herself. In fact, when he did direct a question at her, she’d find a way to turn it back around. Naturally, Aziraphale starts to suspect that something _must_ be amiss. No one has ever found him interesting or fawned over his words.

“Why dancing?” Aziraphale blurts out before he says something less tactful.

Angelique’s eyes go wide with surprise before a brilliant smile spreads on her face. “Because it makes me happy,” she replies simply.

“Well, yes, but _why_ does it make you happy?” Aziraphale can’t stop his eyes from narrowing in suspicion.

The girl looks confused for a moment. “Well, why did you learn to dance?”

Whoopsy. Not a good topic for Aziraphale. Although he really did want to learn how to dance, there were _other_ more _alluring_ reasons to why he joined a discreet gentleman’s club. “Ha! Oh, you know,” his collar starts to chafe as he tries to tell the truth without revealing his past less-than-gentlemanly and more _discreet_ activities. “It looked… fun.”

It’s Angelique’s turn to look suspicious. She narrows her eyes right back at him but smirks with an air of mischief. “And fun things make people happy. I don’t just teach people how to dance, Aziraphale, I teach them to express themselves in a world where it’s usually frowned upon to do so.” 

She smiles wistfully before continuing. “We’re told what to do and what not to do almost every moment of our lives. The world has high expectations of us only to expect more when we happen to reach them.”

Aziraphale finds that he agrees wholeheartedly. This is something he understands too well. Heaven only ever had expectations and the angel was unaware of how suffocating it was until Crowley became his breath of fresh air. And then, he was expected to be enemies with the demon who brought him so much joy.

“On a dance floor,” Angelique sighs happily, “we can forget about all that. The only thing we’re expected to do is have fun. Enjoy each other through smiles we usually hold back.” Angelique chuckles and waggles her eyebrows. “Through touch that would be considered inappropriate otherwise.”

Aziraphale hangs onto her every word as if in a daze. Her eyes grow shrewd like she knows all of his secrets and is going to wring them out and hang them to dry for all to see. 

“No one even has to talk,” she goes on, her voice taking on a deep and sensual tone. “The music, the moves, they do the talking for us. And it doesn't matter how someone is feeling before the music starts, the songs, the steps, it makes all the bad stuff go away. For the hour, at least. And do you know how many budding romances started on my dance floor, including my own? I wouldn't trade my work for anything else.”

 _Budding romances indeed._ The angel tries not to be affected by anything she has just said, but it’s difficult. In one hour, Angelique probably does more good in the world than Aziraphale does in a week. 

“Why did you stop dancing?” Angelique asks.

Aziraphale jumps slightly and tries to grab onto a suitable response. “The gavotte went out of style.” He shrugs.

Angelique lets out a bemused laugh and shakes her head. “There are more styles of dancing, you know?” Her smile droops. “Why did you really stop?”

Aziraphale is very good about shoving unwanted truths into a dark corner of his mind. One of those truths slips out now for him to see clearly and his mouth almost involuntarily answers. “Because I didn’t have a partner.” Not because he had no one to dance with, he realises. He doesn’t have a partner, and so he doesn’t feel like dancing.

“Crowley can be your partner,” Angelique supplies with a strange glint her eye.

Aziraphale nearly topples out of his chair. “Erm, what?” That came out a bit too high-pitched for his liking.

“If you come to the studio.” Angelique waves a dismissive hand and the glint is gone. “You can pair up with Crowley. Or me. Or both.”

“Ha!” Aziraphale wishes he could summon a bucket of freezing water to douse out the fire in his blood. Just imagining dancing with Crowley is making him feel faint. “I doubt Crowley would want to dance with me,” he chuckles nervously.

“On the contrary.” Angelique licks her lips to hide another smirk. “He’s up for it if you are.”

For a brief moment, Aziraphale wonders if they’re still talking about dancing. Before his mind starts to run wild, Angelique’s phone chirps again. 

When she reads the next message, she turns a lovely shade of tomato. "Um..."

Aziraphale feels his presence before he even speaks.

"I knew he'd steal you from me, I just didn't think it'd be this soon!" Crowley complains petulantly as he struts into view. 

He slaps a hand on Aziraphale's shoulder and squeezes. There’s a warning in the seemingly innocent action. They hardly touch, so Aziraphale burns up instantly. 

Angelique crosses her arms over her chest and turns up her nose. "I didn't invite you," she says theatrically with a pout.

Crowley frowns and circles behind her chair. "Is that how it is now?" He leans over her left shoulder and glares at Aziraphale. "Everything alright here?" 

"Everything is perfect," Angelique replies haughtily, then deflates with insecurity as she glances at Aziraphale, "right?"

 _Those puppy eyes, good lord._ "Splendid," he responds with a genuine smile. He can do this, he thinks. He can do this.

Then Crowley removes his glasses with one hand while he uses the other to tilt Angelique's head towards him. He places a tender and terribly romantic kiss on her lips. 

Another revelation lands on Aziraphale's thick head. 

He most definitely _cannot_ do this. "Just… splendid."

  
  



	9. Three Kisses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The comments are fantastic lol! I love the rage. The ineffable idiots at their finest, no?
> 
> More idiocy to come, I'm afraid.
> 
> Thank you Azeran and Intergalacticsupertwink for the beta superpowers!

Before.

"To the world," Crowley says, glowing with pure happiness that Aziraphale doesn't need to sense. It's written all over his face, and it melts Aziraphale to the core.

"To the  _ world _ ," Aziraphale replies with his own beatific smile.  _ To our world, _ is what he really means to say.

The night is still young if one is immortal, and they walk together under the night sky, sometimes silent, sometimes recounting recent events with chuckles. Everything is lovely until Crowley stops and kicks at some gravel.

"Aziraphale?" Crowley asks. And the angel's panic meter starts to spike. "Now that," he clears his throat, "now that we're on our own side. We can, I mean, we don't have to hide anymore." His voice is soft and unsure.

Aziraphale nods with wide eyes looking everywhere but in Crowley’s direction. His heart is hammering, and his palms are sweating, fear is choking him. "Yes, I suppose you're right. We don't have to hide our friendship any longer. What a relief."

There is a long moment of silence before Crowley speaks again. "Our... friendship, yeah. Um, listen–"

"I want you to know that our friendship has always been dear to me and I should have apologised long before now for my careless words–"

Crowley waves his hands, dismissing the apology. "It's alright, that's not what I was getting at–"

"I wouldn't want to  _ compromise _ it. Ever again for  _ any _ reason," Aziraphale adds quickly.

"Oh." The pained look on Crowley’s face is apparent even with the sunglasses hiding most of it.

Aziraphale is sad. 

Aziraphale is unsure he did the right thing. 

Aziraphale is a nincompoop.

* * *

After.

That kiss. 

Aziraphale's brain short circuits and sizzles and just doesn't stop because... that kiss.

Aziraphale has never seen Crowley kiss anyone. Ever.

It's not like Crowley had been obscene. It's not like they had snogged for hours with no regard for him. There was no tongue. The kiss would have seemed chaste even had it not been for the slightest of lingering and intention on Crowley's part. That kiss said so many things. It said, "I missed you, can't stand to be apart for a moment, I was worried, I'm here if you need me, do you need me? Need me."

Angelique's love went off like a firework. That kiss blindsided them both.

It was a second. One second, but it felt like a century. When Crowley stood up again and finally broke eye contact with his lady to look at Aziraphale, his ears turned pink, and he cleared his throat. 

"I was just, erm, checking in," Crowley offers not-so-smoothly.

Both Angelique and Aziraphale have to blink themselves out of their stupor for two very different reasons.

"I said I would call," she says gently.

Crowley shrugs. "Eh, you know, was in the neighbourhood."

"Sweetheart," Angelique smirks, "you live in this neighbourhood."

Crowley clicks his tongue. "So?"

"Aw!" Angelique gives Aziraphale a knowing look. "I think our demon was feeling left out."

Both presenting males choked and spluttered nonsense even they couldn't decipher, which left Angelique giggling. "You two are adorable." She shakes her head, then stands to clear the table, but Crowley beats her to the punch by waving the table clean. "Show off," she admonishes but beams at him anyway.

"See if I ever help again, imp," Crowley declares dramatically with a scowl. When Angelique ducks her head and flutters her eyelashes, Crowley's act breaks and he chuckles. "Little imp," he mutters fondly and kisses the top of her head.

Aziraphale can't take it anymore. He stands abruptly. "Well, I should leave you... to it. I'll just–"

"I can give you a lift home," Crowley offers with guarded nonchalance. "If you like."

While Aziraphale has an internal crisis at the loaded words Crowley just casually threw at him, Angelique gives Crowley a quick peck on the cheek. "You're so thoughtful. That's a great idea." She walks around the table.

They both look at Aziraphale, waiting for his answer. He struggles internally, and maybe Angelique notices because she claps her hands hard and announces, "he's driving you home, Aziraphale. I insist."

"Oh, ho! Yeah! Okay!  _ You _ insist?!" Crowley dons his sunglasses and thumbs at Angelique while looking at Aziraphale. "See this? Bossy little thing."

" _ And _ ," Angelique ignores him, "he will drive the speed limit."

Crowley convulses and sputters like a clunker on the road. When Angelique pulls him down to her and plants a mindblowing kiss to Crowley's lips, Crowley's arms flop to his sides, and he sways. She releases him and arches a brow, daring him to deny her request.

Crowley begins to grumble. "Fnrgh, c'mon, 'ziraphale." Crowley trudges by, clipping Aziraphale's shoulder with his own.

Anxiety and politeness fight for dominance as Aziraphale just stands there. Once more, Angelique takes the initiative and interprets his immobility as an invitation for a hug goodbye. She wraps her arms around Aziraphale's middle, and he is so shocked that his body responds without his permission and hugs her back.

It lasts a little longer than regular embraces between acquaintances do, but the warm affection envelopes and stills him. The effect is immediate, and his angelic love reciprocates as Aziraphale relaxes in Angelique's arms. Before he knows it, Angelique tiptoes and places a tender kiss on his cheek.

"Thank you for coming," she murmurs close to his face.

They lock eyes and Aziraphale shakes with the sensation to just breakdown and cry. The urge to just open his mouth and tell her all of his woes is strong. The spell is broken when Angelique releases him and gives him a knowing smile. 

"You can pop in anytime, and I mean that. Can we do this again soon?"

Aziraphale babbles some words that Angelique interprets as an affirmative. 

"Great! See you soon, then." Angelique peers around Aziraphale and addresses Crowley with a lopsided grin. "No need to hurry back or anything, okay?" Without waiting for an answer, she walks away and disappears into another room.

Aziraphale is still staring at the door when Crowley coughs. Aziraphale startles and spins around to find Crowley watching him intently, his face unreadable. He pushes his glasses up and motions out the door with his head. "Let's go, angel."

The moniker and the gentle way it was uttered grounds Aziraphale a bit. It further warms his heart that he didn't even know felt cold until Angelique left his arms.

"Right. Yes, let's."

* * *

  
  


On the drive to the bookshop, Aziraphale is contemplative. The vision of Crowley's kiss is branded into his retinas. It replays over and over again. The shock of it has passed, and now Aziraphale is just studying it, dissecting it. Reading every microexpression until he can find what he's looking for. He's not sure what he's looking for, but when he finds it, he'll know. 

Crowley interrupts his musings. "So, how'd it go?" He doesn't take his eyes off the road, and his expression is as blank as a fresh canvas.

Aziraphale nods his head and puts on a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. He feels outside of himself, dazed. "Fine. Just tickety-boo. Although, I think I selfishly prattled on for hours about  _ me _ ."

Crowley barks out a laugh and leaves an amused open-mouthed smile on his face that melts Aziraphale's heart. "She does that. Asks a lot of questions, hangs on your every word. If I don't catch myself, she'll let me go on all day!"

Crowley's fond chuckles trail off, and he clears his throat, seemingly a bit embarrassed. "I think," he pauses and purses his lips, "I think she does it to make you feel..." 

"Important..." Aziraphale supplies.

"Yes! And, and..."

"Wanted."

Crowley whips his head to face Aziraphale, and his mouth hangs open for a moment before he looks to the road again. "Yeah," he replies softly. "Yeah, something like that."

The angel’s stomach constricts at the thought of Crowley, thinking that he isn't important to Aziraphale, wanted by Aziraphale. It's so far from the truth that Aziraphale wants to reach out and take his hand. He wants to tell Crowley how much he loves him, that he's the most vital thing to him in the whole world, and that he doesn't just want him–he  _ needs _ him. He needs him like a human needs air.

For centuries, Aziraphale has noticed Crowley's slow circling. The serpent was always trying to coil closer around the angel, and Aziraphale thinks he knows why.

A cold-blooded creature seeks out warmth, just as a Fallen angel seeks out love. It makes perfect sense, and it took Angelique's presence for the knowledge to dawn on him. That kiss. Crowley has been seeking that kind of warmth, and Aziraphale has been too afraid to give it. So, Crowley finally found someone who would keep him warm (in more than one sense that Aziraphale refuses to think about right now.) 

Aziraphale desperately wants to ask, "do you love her?" But his mouth goes dry, and his tongue turns to lead at the thought. If the answer is "yes," then Aziraphale will have to face the horrifying fact that he's wasted  _ a lot _ of time. If the answer is "no," then he's back to square one. If Crowley can't love Angelique, then he can't love anyone, because, despite Aziraphale's fervent desire to dislike the girl, he just can't. He likes her. He likes her a lot, and he barely knows her. 

They arrive at the bookshop. Crowley parks and then drums his fingers on the steering wheel.

Aziraphale barely turns to him as he says good night.

"Hey," Crowley calls his attention before Aziraphale can open the door.

The angel turns and furrows his brow, waiting.

"Thanks." Crowley fails to keep his gaze on Aziraphale, his embarrassment is evident. "For doing this. For, for," he twirls a finger in the air, trying to capture the right words, "well, you know." He waves off his words and fidgets in his seat.

Aziraphale nods. There's a moment here, Aziraphale recognizes it. He could say something without laying himself completely bare. "Of course. She's clearly important to you and..." he swallows, "well, you're important to me." He doesn't like how strained his voice sounds, but there's nothing that can be done about it now.

Crowley gasps, his glasses slide down his nose a bit, exposing his wide, stunned eyes.

"So, erm, good night, Crowley." Aziraphale opens his door, and before his foot hits the pavement, Crowley turns off the ignition. Aziraphale holds his breath and looks back.

"You know," Crowley slurs, "we haven't, I mean, she said not to hurry back. Want to, I dunno,–"

"Yes," Aziraphale breaths, hating how desperate he sounds. "How rude of me. Please, come in for a nightcap?"

Crowley shrugs and grins. "That'd be brilliant, yeah."

The angel and demon exit the Bentley that had arrived significantly slower than the usual time it takes to get there from Mayfair. That kiss is momentarily forgotten. And even though Aziraphale will have to hear Crowley refer to Angelique often, he's happy. He still has his best friend. And that's enough. It will have to be enough. 

Right?

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Want early access to all my work including this one? Go to my [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/mordellestories/) and comment on any post with "add me!"
> 
> Find me on discord (mordelle#9350).
> 
> Here's my [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/mordellestories)!
> 
> Read my other Good Omens fanfic here: [Ineffable Timing](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19810582/chapters/46905922) & [Bless the Fallen](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20754353/chapters/49314962)


	10. Three Left Feet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I mention this fic was just supposed to be a sexy oneshot? As usual, I have no self-control. I had no outline for this, and I'm surprised it's as coherent as it is. 
> 
> Other than the character herself being part of this plot, there is another point to Angelique. I won't say what it is until the end or if someone guesses it in the comments.
> 
> I am eternally grateful for all of the comments. I knew this story would inspire some outrage and I was afraid to publish. But this story was practice to get out of my comfort some and be fearless. So, thank you all SO much for the encouragement and support.
> 
> As always, this fic would be a complete disaster without m betas Azeran and Intergalactictwink! I LOVE YOU!
> 
> On with the drama!

It started off as a perfectly acceptable day. Aziraphale's melancholy only lasted roughly three hours the day before. Not bad, considering that he's been in his own personal Hell for the past two and a half months. Sometimes, with the proper distraction, he can go a few days without dipping into grief. Aziraphale thinks that today could even be one of those days, until the happy couple storm into his bookshop giggling like children.

Aziraphale closes his eyes and sighs. He slams his book shut.  _ Well, there goes that. _

He doesn't get depressed  _ every time  _ he sees them _.  _ In fact, as long as he sees one without the other or they stand well enough apart, he's  _ fine _ , absolutely fine. Aziraphale has always been a master at compartmentalising. In one box, there is Crowley. Good old Crowley who he still drinks and dines alone with at least once a week. In the other box, is Angelique, who laughs at all his jokes–even if he doesn't know he's making one–and enjoys his disastrous magic tricks. Her curiosity is endless, and she is fascinated by everything, especially his personal stories of historical figures and places long since passed. Aziraphale can no longer deny it, and he no longer tries to; he enjoys her company.

As long as those two boxes don't overlap  _ too _ much, Aziraphale can almost forget the two are intimate with each other in ways he never wants to think about, but ends up doing anyway.

Alas, the two lovers usually come as a pair, always as happy as clams, touching, kissing, making googly eyes, sniggering at their inside jokes, etc... 

"Aziraphale!" Crowley exclaims. "Tonight's the night!"

_ Oh no. _

"You shall not weasel your way out this time!" Angelique adds.

They stumble around the corner, hand in hand, smiling. Crowley points to him, then thumbs behind him. "Let's go!"

"Unfortunately, I have an appointment," Aziraphale replies primly with an arched brow, "with Oscar Wilde. He holds up his book and shrugs. "Rescheduling is not an option. He's a stickler like that."

Crowley groans, which has no effect on Aziraphale. Angelique lets go of Crowley and charges for the angel, landing on his lap. She wraps her arms around his neck and shakes him. This  _ does _ have an effect.

"You promised!"

Aziraphale is used to this spritely behaviour, but he still can't stop the blush that rushes to his cheeks at her brazenness. "I assure you, dear lady, I did no such thing." 

He places the book down on the side table and stands, hoping to buck the woman off, but she maneuvers quickly, wrapping her legs around him as well, clinging like a spider monkey.

"For Heaven's sake, Angelique! Must you?" Aziraphale tries to sound disapproving but comes up a bit short. It should annoy him, but no one has ever shown him such genuine physical affection, and he quite likes it actually. Maybe more than he should.

_ Right. Push that to the "never think about again" corner of my mind, thank you very much. _

Angelique wriggles on him, trying to get a better purchase. "You are my prisoner until you agree to come along!"

Crowley is trying not to snigger and fails, which earns him a glare from the angel. "Crowley, remove your human at once before she ruins my favourite waistcoat."

"No!" Angelique barks, only tightening her hold.

"Better off ruined anyway," Crowley mutters.

Aziraphale rolls his eyes and purses his lips to hide a smirk. "Fine! But on one condition!"

"Oo. Conditions don't really work on that one, nope," says Crowley with a frown and shake of his head.

Aziraphale ignores him and announces his stipulation anyway. "It's  _ only _ for tonight. I will not be dragged into this against my will again."

"Yes!" Angelique cries and begins peppering kisses to Aziraphale's cheek.

"And I'm only agreeing to this in the first place because you are insufferable, Angelique. Absolutely insufferable..." he trails off into chuckles as Angelique blows a raspberry on his neck. "I've agreed, small fiend! Release me!" He's trying to peel her off, but she's having too much fun to let go now. "Crowley!" He whines through a giggle because Angelique just tickled a sensitive area behind his ear.

"Op! An angel in distress!" Crowley stalks toward them and squeezes his arms between the pair's bellies, which makes the angel panic. Crowley gives a tug and fails to remove her. "Angel, short of surgical extraction, I dunno what,"  _ tug, _ "to,"  _ tug, _ "do!"

On the final pull, Aziraphale loses his balance, and they all topple to the ground with a shriek each. For a good minute, Aziraphale is crushed by both Angelique and Crowley. It's a comically compromising position with Angelique's face mashed into his and Crowley scrambling between his legs.

"Off! Off-off-off! " Aziraphale screeches. His face is entirely scarlet. The unmentionable dark corner of his mind suddenly spills over into the light as warmth pools in his belly. He mentally beats those thoughts back with an imaginary bat and scrambles to stand. "Of all the tomfoolery!" He admonishes in earnest this time while the two misfits cackle on the ground. "Can we just get this over with?" He huffs and marches to get his coat and doesn't wait for them to follow him out the door.

* * *

Aziraphale is livid. He feels like a total stooge, stupidly standing without a dance partner on the stupid studio floor with a stupid artificial smile on his face and trying not to make a fool of himself stupidly. 

"Looks like we have an uneven number," Angelique declares to her class. 

"I'll just sit this out," Aziraphale grins as he gives her a little wave goodbye.

"Oh, no, you don't!" Angelique rushes to Aziraphale and drags him toward Crowley. "You two can pair up."

Aziraphale is going to faint. "I-I-I-HA! Mmm-n- _ noooo _ ," but Crowley has already swept in and taken one of Aziraphale's hands in his and has placed the other on his shoulder. When Crowley's free hand lands on his waist, Aziraphale's knees betray him and nearly send him crashing to the floor. 

Crowley steadies him and grins wolfishly. "That's a bad sign, angel. We haven't even started yet."

"Oh, do be quiet!" Aziraphale snaps, wishing he had removed his waistcoat because it is suddenly  _ stifling _ in this horrid place. He can't look at Crowley, and he's panicking in earnest now.

"Hey," Crowley squeezes his hand.

Aziraphale glances slightly upward and is taken aback by the fond expression on Crowley's face. 

"It just so happens I'm pretty good at this salsa business. Just let me lead, and you'll be fine."

Too soon the music blares and Angelique is counting out loud with enthusiasm, barking out orders that make no sense to Aziraphale, but Crowley does actually seem to know what he's doing. 

There's a series of moves that are simple enough. Crowley steps back with his feet in time with the music and Aziraphale can only step forward, but then the unthinkable happens. Crowley twirls Aziraphale and presses himself behind him. 

Three things happen at once.

One, Aziraphale's lungs collapse entirely. He doesn't realise that it shouldn't matter since he doesn't technically need to breathe.

Two, he stomps on Crowley's left foot, unsure whether he did it accidentally or as some sort of defensive reflex. 

Three, Angelique immediately and seamlessly takes over for Crowley while he curses and hops around like some kind of rabid kangaroo.

Aziraphale is too overwhelmed to yell out an apology. He's being pushed and pulled and spun. For a small woman who lives off beans on toast, she is quite strong. 

"C'mon, Crowley! Suck it up and get back in here," she laugh-yells.

Crowley waits for an opening and takes Aziraphale's hand in his while Angelique dances around and in between them. Crowley leads them both, sometimes holding one of their hands in each of his at once. Even if he does stumble a bit a few times, he's actually managing quite well. The music stirs something fiery within Aziraphale that he hasn't felt since trying to save the world. Aziraphale feels energised, he feels enthusiastic, he feels elatedly impetuous! 

Crowley and Angelique are smiling radiantly and laughing and, damn it all, Aziraphale is laughing too. This is... this is...

Fun!

The song ends too soon. Crowley spins Angelique around and dips her quickly, crushing his mouth to hers and ending his kiss with a quick swipe of his tongue. Aziraphale is breathless and still laughing when Angelique cheers and plants a passionate closemouthed kiss right on Aziraphale's lips. It was just a fraction of a moment, but in his elation, Aziraphale had pushed into it with puckered lips. And then… 

There’s a jolt to his heart, like a blinding lightning strike, of love and warmth that leaves him dizzy and with an urge to shed tears of joy. Completely involuntarily, the angel’s closed eyes moisten and he smiles wide. He’s fit to fly.

Angelique pulls back with bright, happy eyes, then claps her hands and congratulates the class like nothing had happened.

It takes a moment, but a moment is all it takes, for Aziraphale's anxiety to rush through his corporation at the same time the feeling of love and happiness is sucked right back out of him as suddenly as it had come.

_ Jesus, Mary, and Joseph and the whole choir of angels! _ He thinks with sudden dread.  _ What the blazes was that?!  _ Aziraphale turns to Crowley, expecting the entire night to be ruined, but Crowley is already dragging him into position again, smiling wide.

"Fun, isn't it angel?!" Crowley yells over the commotion.

Aziraphale is very confused, but he manages to smile back and nod.

_ Maybe Crowley didn't see… maybe it was nothing. _

The music starts up again, playing over Aziraphale's cosmic existential crisis and, impossible as it may seem, he enjoys the rest of the evening.


	11. Three Thoughts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***WARNING: NSFW CHAPTER AHEAD. LIME!***
> 
> Thank you for all the beta work, Azeran and Intergalacticsupertwink!!

Aziraphale has had many a rendezvous in the past. Specifically and thoroughly fucked his way through the nineteenth century after a certain spat with a certain someone–not that it had _anything_ to do with that incident... at all. 

It was quite the experience. He enjoyed most of his lovers, but only for one night and never more than that. After a while, though, the novelty of it wore off. It just felt empty, and he didn't like himself very much after the deed was done. 

Aziraphale has abstained since then. Not because he's trying to be celibate mind you. Chasteness has nothing to do with it. He just hasn't felt the need to be a right tart after he finally realised there was only one being in the universe he'd want to share such intimacies with.

But now... 

He realises how much he’s missed physical affection. A sweet caress, a lewd pinch, fiery desire raking down his back. A hug. A kiss. Even a gentle hand in his own. Aziraphale had given up on those things. The angel had been willing to snuff out any hope of that kind of intimacy, but now that he has to witness Crowley have all those things and more, well, it’s had an effect, to put it mildly… very mildly. Aziraphale is touch starved and it’s making him yearn and ache for things he can’t have or shouldn’t want.

And he muses and thinks and imagines all sorts of things that he immediately shoves in that dark corner of his mind. But it’s tangled up in there now. Like a mess of Christmas lights that no one, not even he can unravel. That dark corner where Aziraphale hides all his unthinkable thoughts is starting to spill into the light at an alarming rate. He can no longer ignore specific vile images that invade his waking hours, intent on destroying him from the inside out.

Sometimes he daydreams about going to Crowley, confessing his love for him, and making Crowley choose between him and Angelique. He no longer cares whether Crowley can love or not. The demon seems to love the human or is at least doing a fabulous job pretending and Aziraphale was a fool to think it would not suffice for him. 

He wants whatever Crowley was offering before Angelique came into the picture. Aziraphale has enough love for the both of them if need be because now he can see what it would be like to be with Crowley in that way. Now he can imagine accurately what Crowley would be like as a romantic partner and it's killing him knowing he has to wait. He doesn't have to wait very long, but it feels dire nonetheless. 

Aziraphale only gets a reprieve from those thoughts when Angelique is around, but only because her presence warps his shameful dreams into something else entirely. Angelique and Crowley are so entangled that Aziraphale has a hard time separating them in his mind and heart. He wishes he can forget that kiss on the dance floor. He wishes he can just stop feeling her constantly evolving love for him. He wishes his hands didn't itch to touch her whenever she's around.

And he _wants_ to touch her! It’s a frightening truth. He figures he can’t touch Crowley and Crowley won’t touch him, so, maybe he can feed the black hole within by grasping onto Angelique’s kind and gentle and _platonic_ physical affection. Thank Someone he doesn't need to initiate any of it. She supplies kisses, embraces, and even a smooth hand in his readily and enthusiastically, which only makes things worse in the long run.

Lord, why is she so kind? Why couldn’t she have been some stupid, shallow human that he could readily despise? Why is there an aura around her that insists on pulling him in? An aura full of love. It’s so warm. It’s so welcoming. He’s never met another human who could love so purely. 

When Aziraphale is alone with her, they have deep conversations about all the wonders of the world. Angelique is never empty-handed when she comes to visit him at the shop. Or take him out to eat, or when she scoops him up spontaneously because she just heard about a certain orchestra come to town, or an exhibit that she absolutely must have him beside her so he can tell her what really happened. She brings him sweets, rare teas, expensive wine, bowties and battered books that could use his tender care.

She is as considerate as Crowley and has become a dear friend. Angelique is his _friend_ . Like Crowley is his _friend_.

Aziraphale has caught them kissing. They kiss all the time, but that one incident was different. It wasn't cute and cuddly like he's used to seeing. It was heady and full of want, with Crowley crowding Angelique into a dark corner. Lust was so heavy in the air that Aziraphale could almost taste it. He is pretty sure he at least smelled it; a musky, thick scent, mixed with the aroma of whiskey and burning matches.

"Fuck," Aziraphale rasps as the memory takes over in full.

Crowley is pressing against her, murmuring, sounding like he's begging. Aziraphale catches something like, "please, love, don't leave us like this. I need you," and Angelique is whimpering, pawing at Crowley's chest and dipping her fingers past the hem of his trousers.

Aziraphale thinks they didn't notice him and he definitely knows for sure that they are unaware of his heinous actions. What he’s doing now is despicable but he can’t stop. His eyes roll under his eyelids, and his breathing is erratic as he fucks his own fist, the memory on repeat until he spills in his hand.

Now the worst of it comes. Aziraphale cleans himself up with a thought then buries his face in his hands and sobs. He's corrupt. He's wicked. He has no idea how he hasn't Fallen yet in all these years.

On days like these, Aziraphale tries to shut himself up and mope, but the lovely couple make it almost impossible. They see each other every day. The three of them are thick as thieves, just like Angelique had predicted. They only separate at night. Crowley and Angelique leave him in his bookshop, leaving him to writhe in his chair or his mattress that he hardly used before this mess started.

And Aziraphale can't stop. He can't say no to them. He can't stand being without them. For a while, Aziraphale had convinced himself that it was because he couldn't stand being away from Crowley any longer. He'd gotten used to seeing him so often, and he can't go back to how things were. Then one day, the horrifying truth of it could not be pushed aside. Angelique blew into his shop like an East wind, and his heart nearly exploded at the sight of her. 

"No," Aziraphale shakes his head. "Ridiculous, you're ridiculous. It's nothing."

Looks like he's still grappling with that one. Maybe we should let him be.

"Aziraphale?" Her sweet voice carries over to him, and Aziraphale nearly jumps out of his seat to greet his dear, human _friend_.

Seeing her dispels the hunger-like sensation in his middle. She lunges at him with a blinding smile, and he catches her with an amateur dancer's grace. He's been going to class every week for nearly half a year now. It's the only time he dares to touch either of them, and Aziraphale does touch. He touches Crowley. He knows the feel of his hand in his, knows his warmth on his back, his breath on his neck, knows his thigh between his legs. 

It's all driving him fucking mad with desire, and no amount of wanking has been able to dispel the need that only grows as more time goes by.

"Ready to go shopping?" She asks innocently.

Angelique gives him a light peck just off the corner of his mouth. She does this now. Crowley doesn't seem to mind. Any accidental falter or turn of his head would catch her lips with his own. Those lovely pink lips that have kissed Crowley's lips, and that have undoubtedly stretched around his–

"Yes, dear, ready as ever!" Aziraphale replies enthusiastically, already feeling a tightness in his trousers again. 

His imagination is starting to scare him.

"We don't have to go right away," she _could_ say with a purr.

"Oh?" He _could_ reply with a suggestive arch of his brow.

"Crowley just fucked me in the Bentley. If you hurry, you _could–_ "

And that's all the invitation he would need. Aziraphale would hold onto her waist and hoist her up next to the till. He'd snap away her undergarments, if she's wearing any, and lap away at her folds like a parched animal to taste them both in one go.

"Aziraphale? You alright? Looking a bit flushed," Angelique says with a concerned furrow of her brow.

"Yes," he replies quickly and then tugs at his bowtie. “Ticketyboo. Let's go, shall we?" 

For the first time, he initiates outside of the classroom. He offers his arm, and she takes it without hesitation. She doesn't comment on his choice not to don his trusty coat. He's sure she doesn't realise it's because he wants as little layers between them as possible.

And that's bad.

He's confused, and he has no idea what to do about any of it and the more he ignores it all, the worse it gets.

Aziraphale is worried. Aziraphale is beyond randy. Aziraphale is utterly and colossally fucked.

  
  



	12. Three Shut Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been writing like a fiend for Searlus and the Sailor (my beauty and the beast fic here on ao3. Quite different from the stories we are all used to... heh), so I'm going to take a small break today and learn how to use procreate! Maybe make some more art for future chapters.
> 
> I never thought I'd learn so much from this story. The response has been so great! I'm taking hella notes!
> 
> Thank you all SO FRIGGIN MUCH!
> 
> And, as always, these chapters would be a disaster without my betas Azeran and Intergalacticsupertwink!

The bookshop is completely empty, save for one lonely angel with a forgotten cup of cocoa in his grasp. He never really meant to drink it anyway. He'd made the cup to occupy his mind and his hands, because reading is no longer working as a distraction.

Aziraphale hasn't opened his shop in an entire month. Crowley was kind enough to ask him why and if everything was all right. The angel made some excuse about a persistent customer who was out to buy some first edition by someone or other. He really can't quite recall the details of his lie. Aziraphale can't quite remember many of the lies he's uttered in Crowley's presence, and now he can't keep up with the ones he's told himself. 

His mind is all jumbled up, and he's been living in a bizarre fog. Aziraphale exists in a haze of anxiety, love, desire, and melancholy. It's so thick, and he can't think straight anymore. He makes no plans. Ever. Not anymore. All he does is wait. He watches the clock tick away the hours until Crowley or Angelique or the both of them together come to alleviate his loneliness.

He watches the clock now, unblinkingly.

Aziraphale is desperately trying to keep from thinking at all. Because his thoughts are... well, let's not go there. The point is -  _ the point is _ , he's in survival mode. He is going with the flow, allowing the ineffable, bloody, pustulant, ineffable plan to run its course. 

What else can he do? It hasn't even been a full year yet, and he's a mess. Pathetic. 

Aziraphale always seems on the brink of confessing his undying love and desire for Crowley. He imagines just one day casually interrupting what Crowley is saying and coming out with it.

"I love you... Now what?" That's about as far as it gets with his musings because then a lovely, beautiful face of a lovely, beautiful soul collapses into despair. And the image makes his heart hurt. 

He loves her.

_ Oh, bother. This again? _ He tells his errant thought as he bats it away uselessly.  _ Ridiculous. You love Crowley. You're just confused. She gets to love him openly, and you don't. She smells like him. She makes him happy. She's buoyant and cheerful. She's spontaneous. Caring. She makes you laugh. She loves you.  _

_ Wait: What just happened? What?  _

And this is the part where he argues with some shadow self within who takes none of his horseshit.

_ She loves you, and you know it. You can't ignore it.  _

_ She loves Crowley. _

_ But she loves you too. Just as much. _

_ No, no. It's not the same. She loves me as a friend. _

_ Whatever helps you sleep at night, old man–oh wait, you don't sleep. The last time you put your head down to drown me out you dreamt up some very interesting– _

"Oh, do shut up," Aziraphale snaps at himself aloud. 

"Oh, I'm sorry," Angelique's voice comes from behind.

Aziraphale whirls around, eyes wide, nearly dropping his congealed cocoa all over himself. "How did you...?" He had locked the door. Didn't he? The bells didn't chime. Did they?

Angelique's face is crestfallen, and she's backing away. He's only seen that look once, and it had been his fault that time as well.

He should tell her to go away. He should just rip off the bandaid and chase her off.

He does not.

"Oh, my dear," Aziraphale sets the cocoa aside and stands, "that mad outburst was certainly not for you."

Angelique looks around to see who it  _ was _ meant for but obviously finds no one. "Who then?" She asks cautiously.

With a heavy sigh, Aziraphale shrugs. "Me? God? Both."

A look of worry replaces the hurt on her face, and she approaches the angel. She takes his hands that he offers willingly. Her hands are cool in his hot palms. 

"Is something wrong? I've been wondering if something was up with you," she inquires shyly. "I should have spoken up sooner. I'm so sorry. What an awful friend, huh?"

Aziraphale squeezes her hands and steps forward, leaving very little space between them. She has to look up at him, and his heart clenches at her moist eyes gazing up through those lovely long lashes. 

"You're a wonderful friend. A wonderful  _ person _ . I'm fine. Just a small case of existentialism." He adds a gentle smile that might come off a bit fonder than he means to show. "I thought you two weren't coming until after noon?"

An adorable furrow of her brow appears. "It is... afternoon."

"Well, that can't be! I was just looking at the time–" Aziraphale looks over his shoulder and gapes. "Ah. It appears you are correct."

"Aziraphale," she whispers with concern as she closes more of the space between them, "you're not fine."

The angel shakes his head to clear his mind. "Cabin fever perhaps." He tries to sound chipper and chuckles. "Why don't we go out for tea instead of sitting around this dusty old place, hm?"

Angelique visibly deflates and unsuccessfully tries to hide a quivering lower lip by biting down on it. 

"Oh, no, no," Aziraphale chides lightly and brings her small frame into his arms. "None of that, now." 

He revels in the feel of her body pressed flush against his. He places a kiss on the top of her head and takes the opportunity to take in her scent. Angelique smells of oranges and mint. It's her favourite morning body wash for her morning showers (lavender is always reserved for her night baths. She experiments with other soaps when she washes in the afternoons. Honestly, the woman indulges in way too many showers, and he loves that quirk about her. But he loves  _ all _ her quirks.) Another whiff and he's met with the subtle hint of Crowley's aftershave and an even lighter aroma of brimstone. A perfect bouquet as far as Aziraphale is concerned.

Aziraphale realises too late that his lips have lingered far too long on her pretty head, but Angelique does not pull back. In fact, she nuzzles into his chest and tightens her hold around him. A small sniff escapes her, which makes Aziraphale frown.

"Are you quite all right, my dear?" He murmurs into her hair.

"She's been feeling a bit off lately," Crowley supplies.

Aziraphale almost jumps away from Angelique, but that would just make things more awkward, and anyway, Angelique has now completely lodged herself in Aziraphale's arms. So, although he stiffens, he stays as is. 

Warily, Aziraphale looks up to find Crowley walking toward them with a small frown. At first, Aziraphale thinks it's because of the intimate show of affection, but he surprises him. Crowley presses himself behind his lover, places his hands on her waist, and rests his chin on her head. _My his face is so close._ _Kiss him._

_ Shut up. _

_ _

Aziraphale's arms are trapped between Angelique's back and Crowley's front. He ignores this fact as best as he can and tries to act casual. "Whatever is the matter?" He gives Crowley a small glare.

Crowley immediately flinches under the Aziraphale's glower. "Wasn't  _ me _ !"

Aziraphale believes him because Angelique's love is swirling around them both, very strongly.  _ The poor creature. Just as confused as you, you daft fool. _ And Aziraphale must be indeed daft because he leans back and cups Angelique's face in his hands, braving another lingering kiss on her forehead.

He glances at Crowley. 

Crowley doesn't seem phased. "Why don't you take her out for a bit, angel?" His voice is full of affection. "I have a few errands to run."

Crowley's warm tone sends the angel's heart somersaulting. Aziraphale cocks a brow. "Errands? Can't it wait?" He doesn't want him to leave, and Angelique obviously wants them both– _ stop that. I'm just seeing what I want to see.  _

_ So you admit you want it? _

_ Bugger off. _

Crowley cringes. "Not really. Well, I mean, yeah, but then–ugh!"

Angelique finally smiles. "He thinks he's so sneaky." She lets go of Aziraphale, who feels his warmth leave with her, and turns to her lover. "But he isn't."

"Sneaky is my middle name, missy," Crowley drawls and boops her nose. 

"Your middle name is J," Aziraphale banters with a smirk.

Crowley chuckles and moves in for a sensual kiss from Angelique. "Back in a tick, love." 

Angelique beams at him as he walks back out the door. "Bye."

Before he even realises it, Aziraphale has snatched one of Angelique's hands eagerly and threaded it through his arm. "Just you and me then." He walks her out in time to see the Bentley speed off with a piece of his heart. "What is he trying to be sneaky about anyway?"

"Oh," Angelique ducks her head, "I'm pretty sure he's planning something for our anniversary."

It feels like he's run straight into a wall. Aziraphale stops dead on the sidewalk. "Anniversary..." Aziraphale mumbles, back in that haze. 

_ Their anniversary. Not yours. Never yours. _

_ Shut. Up. _

  
  
  
  
  



	13. Three Blockades

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HERE WE GO! ::rubs hands together:: Shit gonna get REAL now! The next chapter is when the angst REALLY peaks. I might take pity on you and post two chapters tomorrow. 
> 
> Ya'll gonna kill me.
> 
> Thank you Azerana and Intergalacticsupertwink for all the beta work!!!

Dress shopping should have done the trick. Angelique loves shopping almost as much as dancing, but her smiles are half hearted whenever she exits the dressing room. No one would think she was anything but happy, yet Aziraphale knows those lips almost as much as he knows Crowley's, and the upturns they take now are not right. Her smiles have been a mockery of the real thing. 

Aziraphale is waiting for her to open up about it. She’s usually forthcoming about almost everything. Something must really be bothering her, and it's starting to worry him honestly.

Angelique makes an elegant twirl on her tiny bare crooked toes. The pink and white polka-dotted dress compliments her darker complexion, and Aziraphale tries to focus on that. Not the way the skirt lifts, exposing her naked muscular calves bunching up in the seamless effort of the pirouette. Not on her slender waist that beckons for his hands. Not the way her perfectly sculpted, exposed shoulders beg to be peppered with kisses.

"Stunning," says Aziraphale. 

Angelique shakes her head and places her hands on her hips with a pout. "You've said that about everything I've tried on!"

He chuckles and splays his hands innocently. "I should not be to blame that everything looks positively impeccable on you, darling." 

It's only when Angelique blushes scarlet that Aziraphale realises what he just called her. He doesn't know what to do. Apologise? No. What would Crowley do? Ah, yes, play it  _ cool _ .

"It also shouldn't surprise you that you have great taste, my dear. An incredible eye for fashion." Aziraphale hopes his smile doesn't look as nervous as he feels. "But if you are having trouble choosing, this one is my favourite."

Finally, Angelique's face splits into a genuine toothy grin, and Aziraphale is filled with pride that he was the cause for it.

"Um, thanks," she giggles prettily. "I'll just take this one then," she says softly. Eyes looking toward the floor, Angelique moves back into the dressing room, bumping into the door awkwardly. "Ouch. Right. I'll just change," she trips over her shoes that lay discarded on the ground. "Whoa! Ha! Won't be a tick. Then we can–" her hand slips off the door handle while trying to kick her shoes out of the way.

Aziraphale fears she really might fall. His fingers wrap around her shoulders while her hands come to rest on his chest. 

Giggling a bit hysterically, Angelique wobbles before standing straight. "Thank you."

Aziraphale's thumbs rub circles over her smooth skin without his permission. "You're not usually clumsy," he teases.

With an exasperated puff of air, Angelique rolls her eyes. "I'm not usually a lot of things these days. I lost my keys this morning. I never lose my keys–I never lose anything! Even if I misplace something, it turns up when I really need it."

Aziraphale scoffs at the mention of her strange luck.

"My hot water ran out on me last night. Thought it was the water heater gone bad, but it was fine. It's never happened before."

"To be fair, you take extraordinarily long showers, multiple times a day," he chides.

"But still!" Angelique grows genuinely frustrated. "It's other stuff too. I just don't feel," she closes her eyes, "right." She deflates. "Crowley checked me. He says there's nothing wrong."

Aziraphale frowns. "May I?" He regrets the moment he asks, thinking he'd pushed too far. Letting him in would be too intimate–

"Yes, please check. Maybe he missed something?"

Swallowing hard, Aziraphale nods and drags his hands up, placing two fingers on her temples. "Just relax."

At his words, she melts into him and takes a deep breath. 

The moment he delves into her energy, he's overwhelmed with love but also finds a bit of sadness. She's holding that information from him, so he does not press. Aziraphale focuses on her physical health but finds nothing amiss. He's hesitant but probes into her mental state. Nothing there to worry over. It's the emotional energy that has the stain of the blues, and when he tries to poke at it, he's kicked out altogether.

Aziraphale jolts from the force of his departure. It was like he was just tossed arse first from a warm home onto the cold pavement.

Angelique gasps. "Oh! Are you okay? Did I hurt you?"

"It's fine—just an unexpected exit." Aziraphale is still reeling. All humans have free will, but he's never experienced something like this before. Whatever Angelique just did, it was no regular block or evasion that Humans are barely capable of to begin with.

"I didn't hurt you, did I? Apparently I did it to Crowley too. Compared it to a time in Syracus when he–"

"Decided to be hurled across a field by the first catapult, yes. Would have gotten discorporated, the idiot, had I not been there."

That made Angelique snort and laugh. "I'd have paid to see that." 

Aziraphale chuckles and rolls his eyes. Their laughter trails off awkwardly when they both realise how close their faces are.

_ This is not good. This is toeing a dangerous line. _ A line he will not cross. Aziraphale latches onto his angelic willpower and pulls away.

He clears his throat and releases Angelique completely. "I didn't see anything worth worrying about. Though it might be your emotional state. Even I have bad days, and it influences the effect of my miracles."

Angelique bites her lip. He wants to soothe it with a kiss. "I don't think so. This only started happening a few days ago, and I can't think of anything that has changed. Honestly, it feels like it's someone else's fault."

This gives Aziraphale pause. "What do you mean?"

"I dunno. I just feel this need to blame someone else for messing with my vibe."

Guilt instantly sinks in his belly. _It's me_ , he thinks, _I'm the one messing with your vibe._ _I'm the one confusing you._

While Angelique changes, Aziraphale purchases all the dresses she tried on, including the polka-dotted one. This makes Angelique light up even though she tells him he shouldn't have done it.

Aziraphale tries to concentrate on his pastry when he sees Angelique staring at him. This isn't new. Crowley does it too. For some reason, he finally decides to voice this fact. "Do you and Crowley have a laugh at me after every meal? You stare almost as much as he does." He laughs nervously.

Angelique raises her gaze from his mouth to his eyes, and he swears he sees hunger there. "Never. Though I am curious about something."

"Hmm?"

"Do you order almost everything on the menu because you want it all, or is it that you just can't decide on what you want?"

Aziraphale frowns and dabs at his mouth with his napkin. He looks at their table and notices the unreasonable amount of food on it. "Never thought about it actually." He grows thoughtful but comes up with nothing. "I suppose it's as much as a mystery to me as to why Crowley doesn't eat." He smiles down at his plate.

Angelique's fork clatters on her plate loudly, which makes Aziraphale look up. He's taken aback by her stricken expression. 

"What is it? What's wrong?" He asks.

"You don't know?" Angelique asks cautiously.

"Know what?"

"Why Crowley doesn't eat," she pronounces slowly.

Aziraphale shrugs. "Never thought to ask. Our lot don't need to eat so..." he trails off when Angelique looks at him with sad eyes. He suddenly feels cold. "You know why." It's not a question, but he's desperate to ask.

Angelique's gaze shifts nervously as she debates whether she should say. She seems to make a decision. "He didn’t say it was a secret," she mumbles to herself, and then clears her throat. "Crowley doesn't eat because," Angelique stares at her plate dejectedly, "because food turns to ash in his mouth."

Aziraphale's brain sputters to a complete stop. "What?" he breathes.

Angelique shrugs. "Something about punishment for tempting Eve to eat the apple." Her eyes abruptly go wide at Aziraphale's expression, and she grabs onto his trembling hand. "But-but it's not  _ all _ bad," she consoles quickly. "He says that liquids are okay. He can taste–"

He doesn't hear the rest of that sentence. He vaguely hears his name being called. His mind is too busy supplying him with every instance he's invited Crowley to lunch or dinner. Every time he's pushed Crowley to try a bite of something from his plate. And all he can think is  _ why _ .

"Why didn't I know this? Why has he never told me?" Aziraphale focuses his gaze on Angelique. "All these years, why has he told  _ you _ and not  _ me _ ?" The hurt is evident in voice, and Angelique strokes his knuckles, looking confused before she speaks.

"Because I asked?"

The simplicity of her answer confounds him before he understands its depth.

Angelique is like Crowley in so many ways, but this was the starkest difference between them and Aziraphale. She  _ asked _ . She asked Crowley why, and he answered her, just like she persistently asked Crowley out on dates. She asked him, and one day he finally said yes. 

Aziraphale never asked. Aziraphale made a point never to ask. 

"Forgive me, dear, but I must go. This is–this is-–"

Angelique's phone rings. She looks at it and gapes. "It's Crowley."

All Aziraphale can do is nod, so she answers the phone.

"Hi, love... yes, we're still out... he's here... erm, okay," she purses her lips and sends a questioning look at Aziraphale. "He wants to talk to you."

Aziraphale shakes his head, but the phone is already in his hand. He gulps and steels his nerves. He places the phone at his ear and clears his throat. "Crowley?"

"Hey! Try not to be obvious," Crowley says with excitement and a hint of nervousness. "Hard thing to ask from you, I know. I wasn't gonna, but I need to ask you something."

Aziraphale is momentarily distracted by the growing desperation in Crowley's tone. "All right."

"Can you, erm, does she–this is pathetic," Crowley growls and groans before he spits it out. "Does she still love me?"

Aziraphale had not been prepared for that. He hadn't been prepared for a lot, apparently. He stays silent too long because Crowley is already trying to hurry off the phone.

"Nevermind. I shouldn't–I shouldn't have... I don't wanna know–"

"Yes."

"What?" Crowley seems to hold his breath.

"I said, yes."

A sigh of relief peaks into static on the receiver. "So, so, nothing's changed? She still loves me the same as before?"

"More than."

There's silence before Crowley speaks again, with an unmistakable smile in his voice. "That's–that's good. That's great. Thanks, angel. That's great news." He exhales with a laugh. "I'm treating you to lunch tomorrow. Anywhere you wanna go! Gotta run for now, ciao!"

The call ends, and before Azirphale knows what he's doing, he's on the sidewalk, leaving Angelique behind. He's walking quickly toward the bookshop before a blood-curdling scream rips through the air and his heart.

Aziraphale whirls around to find people rushing to the table he just left. "Angelique?" 

"Someone call an ambulance!" A man cries.

He's running back as fast as he can. "Angelique?!" 

Aziraphale pushes the growing crowd apart and collapses to knees next to Angelique's lifeless form on the ground. 

"Give the man some room! Sir, are you a doctor?"

Aziraphale ignores everyone and draws on his power to delve into Angelique's energy. It doesn't work. He tries again. He’s forced back before he can even get in. "What is this? Angelique?!" He pulls her into his arms. "Wake up, my darling." He snaps his fingers, miracling her to come to but it doesn't work either. This is unprecedented. "Angelique, love, wake up!" He shakes her.

A siren blares and two men tear her out of Aziraphale's arms.

"Wait!" He gets up and tries to climb into the ambulance when he's stopped by the medic.

"What's your relation–"

"Husband!" He blurts out the first thing that comes to mind and clambers inside the vehicle, taking one of Angelique's hands in his. "It's all right," he murmurs into her cheek. "It'll be all right."

He keeps up the lies. It's what he's good at after all.

  
  
  
  



	14. Three Calls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, listen up! The next two chapters are emotionally ROUGH. I will post both chapters so you can just get it over with lol. 
> 
> Thank you Azeran and Intergalacticsupertwink for putting up with my messy chapters and fixing my countless blunders!

_ Ring. Ring. Ring. _

_ "This is Anthony J. Crowley. You know what to do. Do it with--" _

_ Click. _

_ Ring. Ring. Ring. _

_ "This is Anthony J. Crowley--" _

_ Click. _

_ Ring. Ring. Ring. _

_ "This is Anthony J. Crowley. You know what to do. Do it with style." _

_ Beep. _

"Crowley, it's me, Aziraphale. Pick up. It's quite urgent. An emergency, actually. I'm calling from a hospital line-eh-the Royal London Hospital. The mobile got left behind. Something's happened to Angelique. She's unconscious. I tried to mi-I tried to  _ help _ . It didn't take. I'm letting the doctors handle it. I used a mi- oh bugger. I  _ wished _ them  _ luck,  _ if you understand my meaning. I think you do. You know, erm,  _ prayed _ they be  _ blessed. _ Seemed to work. I don't–I don't understand why-it doesn't matter. Just get here quickly. I'll call again once they've moved us into a proper room. Please, do hurry."

* * *

  
  


Crowley still hasn't arrived. They don't have a room. More and more tests have been done. Some results are negative, some are pending. The nurses look grim whenever they enter. Angelique has been poked and prodded, and she's hooked up to some infernal machine that makes awful noises and reads numbers that Aziraphale doesn't understand. She hasn't even twitched. She's cold to the touch.

Aziraphale feels useless. He hasn't felt this way since his last-ditch effort to save the world by praying to God indirectly. He'd try it again now if he knew that God would do something about it. The girl doesn't deserve what's happening to her, whatever it is. 

Angelique threw away her opportunity at a promising dance career in the ballet to teach because that’s what she loves. She loves to teach because her classes bring people joy. 

_ "It doesn't matter how someone is feeling before the music starts,"  _ she told him once, glowing with happiness, _ "the music, the steps, it makes all the bad stuff go away. For the hour, at least. And do you know how many budding romances started on my dance floor, including my own? I wouldn't trade my work for anything else."  _

Aziraphale could attest to that.

For all of her beauty, she is not vain. For all of her wealth, she is not greedy. She gives as much as she gets.

Aziraphale looks skyward. "She's started charities in your name, you know. Just thought that might interest you," he mutters to the dreadful fluorescent lights. 

"I DEMAND TO SEE ANGELIQUE BLANCHETTE RIGHT THE FUCK NOW!"

Aziraphale drags a palm down his face before he stands to meet Crowley. He draws the curtain open and sees the gangly stick with limbs ripping curtains open and scaring the Hell out of patients and visitors alike.

"Sir! Please! You are not allowed to see the patient right now unless you're family–"

"I'm her husband!" Crowley declares righteously, puffing out his chest.

The nurse scoffs. "Her husband is already with her."

Aziraphale cringes and has a mind to retreat as Crowley rounds on the nurse and looms over her. 

" _ Isss that sssso?! _ " Crowley hisses through bared teeth. "AZIRAPHALE! Where are you?!"

Aziraphale clears his throat and waggles nervous fingers when Crowley sees him and begins to stalk in his direction.

"Sir, if you're not fam–"

"I'm her father, brother, cousin, whatever, sod off!" Crowley snaps his fingers, and the nurse's eyes glaze over.

"Your daughter, sister, cousin will have a room shortly," the nurse chirps with a smile.

Aziraphale sighs. He doesn't have the energy to chastise his behaviour. He moves out of the way lest he be barreled over by the demon.

Crowley pays him no mind and beelines to Angelique's side. "Angelique," he whispers as he leans over her and caresses her cheek.

The hairs on Aziraphale's neck stand on end as he senses a demonic miracle take place. Then he feels another. And another.

"It doesn't work, Crowley. Don't you think I've tried?"

Crowley continues, the smell of brimstone thickens in the air and the lights flicker.

Aziraphale places a gentle hand on his shoulder, and to his surprise, Crowley does not flinch away even in his current state. "Enough, dear." He doesn't add a "boy "or "fellow" or anything else. Just  _ dear. _

At the endearment and his soothing touch, Crowley slumps, defeated. "What happened, angel?" His voice is tight, like he's trying to keep it together.

Aziraphale leaves his hand where it is as guilt washes over him. "I don't know."

Crowley tenses under his grip. "What do you mean, you don't know? You were there!" Crowley's words crack, and he bites back a sob.

"I was, but then I," Aziraphale closes his eyes and steps away, letting his hand fall to his side, "I left."

Crowley stands straight and turns to him. His sunglasses do nothing to hide his anger. "You left her."

Aziraphale nods slowly, and he feels a cool sensation on his cheeks. He hadn't known he was crying. "I was leaving. I wasn't far. I heard her... scream - oh, Crowley it was awful," his hands fly to his chest as he collapses into a chair. "I ran back. She was on the floor. I tried to heal her, but it didn't work.  _ Nothing _ worked. Then everything happened so quickly--"

"You left her," Crowley utters with a deep frown.

Aziraphale sends a pleading gaze to Crowley. "Believe me when I say that I regret it," he whispers in response while snivelling. "But how was I to know? That scream, Crowley. It was a cry of pain. I thought someone attacked her, but there is no sign that–"

"You. Left. Her." Crowley's hands were clenching into fists.

Aziraphale stares into the black lenses and sees his pathetic reflection in them. "I did," he admits again with a shaky sigh. "If you want someone to blame, then," he waves a hand toward himself, "here I am."

Crowley's nostrils flare as he takes shallow breaths, and then he shudders suddenly. "No," is all he says before he turns around and removes his glasses. He kisses Angelique's forehead and cheeks before he speaks again. "Me. I'm to blame," his voice grates.

"You are  _ not _ !" Aziraphale cries. 

"I am." Crowley sits carefully on the side of the patient's cot, still gazing at her pallid face. Aziraphale can see one yellow serpentine eye, no white to be seen. "I'm a demon," he says with a shrug, like what he's saying is obvious and simple to understand. "I'm not supposed to have good things." 

The sob that comes out of the demon tears Aziraphale's heart to shreds. "That's not true," the angel refutes with more tears.

"Of course it is!" He looks at Aziraphale, despair written in every wrinkle, every pore on his face. "Evil contains the seed of its own destruction, you said it yourself! So, there it is. Demons are evil. Right?" He asks Aziraphale before he looks to the ceiling and yells. " _ RIGHT?!" _

Aziraphale covers his mouth as if the gesture could stop all the cruel and obtuse words he's ever uttered.

"She was doomed the moment a demon claimed her," Crowley buries his face in his hands, and for the first time ever, Aziraphale watches Crowley cry.

Those gut-wrenching sounds are killing him. He can no longer bear it. Aziraphale stands and crosses the small space, enveloping the demon into a crushing embrace. Crowley resists at first, but then he fists his hands in Aziraphale's shirt and screams into his chest. Aziraphale holds him until his cries turn to snivels until his hands unclench, and until Crowley pulls away and peers up at him through wet lashes. The depths of his despair is so apparent that Aziraphale has to force himself not to look away.

_ You idiot,  _ Aziraphale rebukes himself internally. _ You complete and utter fool. A being who cannot love could never feel this kind of pain. You can't sense it, but it's always been as plain as day in everything he's ever done... for you. _

The thought hurts. It hurts because now Aziraphale knows for sure that Crowley  _ can _ love, and he loves  _ deeply _ . It hurts because that love does not belong to Aziraphale. Maybe it had once, but Aziraphale squandered all of it. No, worse. He'd ignored it.  _ Rejected _ it. Now that Crowley's found someone worthy of his love...

"She's still punishing me, Aziraphale," Crowley squeaks pathetically. "I finally found," he struggles and hiccups, "I finally,  _ finally _ found someone that-that-that–"

"You love," Aziraphale croaks out.

The tension in Crowley's face eases into a blank and empty shell. His eyes glaze over as he shakes his head slightly in denial. Then he says something just above a whisper that makes Aziraphale want to cease existing altogether.

"I finally found someone who loves me  _ back _ ."


	15. Three What?!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The roller coaster continues!
> 
> Thank you to Azeran and Intergalacticsupertwink, my lovely and talented beta's!

You'd think that by spending six thousand years on Earth, Aziraphale would have felt all there is to feel. He has felt pain, more so in the last eight months than ever before, and he thinks it's a miracle that he's survived it thus far. He thought he'd peaked, really, and that the stabbing pain was slowly turning into a dull ache.

He knows now how wrong he was. How naive. How stupid.

Knowing he is a big part of why his best friend is suffering so keenly is a blow, to say the least. This pain he feels, well, it's simply not survivable. It can't be. Even if it is, he's not so sure he wants to survive it.

"Crow-ley," he hears himself say, broken and weak. He cannot let his demon think he is not loved, hasn't been loved for thousands of years. Yes, thousands, if Aziraphale is honest with himself. And he is. He finally is. And he's finally going to say. "Crowley," he tries again, a bit stronger as he cups the demon's face. The poor creature looks so lost. He doesn't even look wounded, and he's just sitting there, eyes blank and body limp, like he's given up. Like he could ask for holy water at any moment. A small part of Aziraphale knows this is probably not the optimal time and place to say what he's going to say–especially on the bed of Crowley's girlfriend who might be dying, a woman he at least thinks he loves as well. "Crowley, I–"

The curtain is torn open by the doctor who pauses and stares at them with an arched brow. "Apologies, for interrupting an intimate moment," she says quickly, then plucks Angelique's chart off the wall.

Aziraphale continues to hold Crowley's face and stare into his eyes, even when those eyes shift to the medical professional.

"You know," the doctor says while flipping through pages, "we haven't actually found any _bad_ news. And Ms Blanchette is pretty stable considering. Her blood pressure is slowly going back to normal, as is her temperature. It's only been a handful of hours, and she doesn't appear to be in any pain." The doctor looks up, and she peers over her spectacles with a small smile. "I wouldn't start the waterworks yet." She gives them both an encouraging wink. 

Crowley pulls away from Aziraphale, and Aziraphale lets him go. "Why isn't she waking up?" Crowley asks, voice nearly shot. 

The doctor's eyes go wide. "Sir, your-your eyes!"

Crowley turns away swiftly and dons his glasses. "Coloboma," he explains quickly.

"Sir, that is not Colo–"

"Aziraphale," Crowley pleads.

The angel ignores his own agony and focuses on his friend who needs him right now. Aziraphale turns to the doctors and snaps his fingers. "It's whatever he says it is," he suggests weakly. 

The doctor shakes her head and blinks rapidly before fixing her gaze on them again. "Yes, yes, of course. Sorry. What was I saying?"

"Can you tell us _anything_?!" Crowley snaps with frustration.

"Oh, er, no. No, not really. She's in a coma. It would help to know exactly what happened."

"She screamed. Like she was hurt or attacked," Aziraphale supplies again for the umpteenth time.

"We've ruled out just about everything that may have been the cause." The doctor shrugged. "But again, her vitals are climbing back up on their own. It's possible she could wake up very soon."

"If she doesn't?" Aziraphale asks what's on both their minds.

The doctor sighed and nodded slowly. "Statistically, the longer she stays in a coma, the lower the chances she'll awaken." She gives them a sad smile. "They'll be moving you to a room now. I see you again very soon." The doctor exits, and a few nurses bustle into the area and begin the process of moving the patient.  
  


* * *

The sun is rising, and Aziraphale has no idea where the time went. He hasn’t spoken a word since the doctor last visited, and neither has Crowley. He was so close to saying it. So close. The moment has passed, however, and he doesn't try to voice the truth again. 

Every so often, Crowley seems about to climb into bed with his lover, but then retreats to the window and just stares out into the parking lot. 

Aziraphale jumps when Crowley suddenly speaks for the first time in what seems like an age.

"I can't do this."

The words don't make sense to Aziraphale at the moment. "Can't do _what_?"

"I need to go."

Aziraphale furrows his brow, completely confused. " _What_? Go where?"

"Away from here. Away from her," Crowley says calmly. "You were right from the start. She's mortal. Something like this was bound to happen sooner or later. I thought," he lets out a shaky breath, "I thought I could do it. That I could just live in the moment, y' know? I can't. Even if she wakes up, then what? Wait for her to die anyway?" He places his hands and forehead on the window, his breath fogs up the pane. "I'll never see her again, whether she ends up above or below."

Aziraphale's grief and pity begin to be replaced by anger. "Well, you should have thought of that before she gave you her heart. You're not going anywhere. When she wakes up, you–"

"She won't wake up," Crowley says defeatedly. "Not while I'm still around."

"Crowley," Aziraphale warns, "I'm sure this has nothing to do with you. God is not punishing you–"

Crowley slams a fist against the glass so hard it wobbles. "There has not been a moment since my fall where I am not being punished in some way or another. I have to go."

"No."

"If she does wake up," Crowley takes in a long breath, "tell her that... tell her... she'll be safer away from me."

“Crowley, stop this nonsense. If you truly love her then–”

“I should let her go.”

“Don’t be _stupid_ ,” Aziraphale admonishes.

Crowley refuses to face Aziraphale. “Angel,” the demon whispers, “if you,” he sniffs harshly and clenches his fists, “take care of her.” He finally turns and gives Aziraphale a sad smile. “I know you’ll make her happy.”

Before Aziraphale can say another word, Crowley is gone. The angel fumes at his audacity and nearly goes after him, but then Angelique would be alone. The hospital could not reach her parents because the couple were on some crazed mountain climbing excursion. Her next of kin, an uncle in America, finally called back, but he wouldn't be here for another two days.

Aziraphale sighs and walks to the patient's side. He strokes her hair and tucks her locks behind her ears. Once again, Aziraphale tries to connect with her spiritually, hitting a wall as he expected. "I don't understand," Aziraphale murmurs. "Surely, you aren't being punished because you love Crowley." _That would be cruel of Her_ , he thinks dangerously, not really caring.

"Think, Aziraphale," he tells himself, "snap out of it and think for goodness sake."

The angel closes his eyes and centres himself. He tries to list the facts and challenges his beliefs.

Angelique is human. 

Angelique loves stronger than any human he's ever met. Angelique should not be able to block out angelic of demonic influence like this, especially while unconscious and vulnerable. 

Angelique says she has good luck. Angelique said it felt like her luck was waning because of some outside influence. He thinks about her perfect health. He thinks about how she told him luck runs in the family. He thinks about long lives. He thinks about the lotto, the keys, the hot water. The lotto...

Aziraphale is thrown back to their first proper lunch at her flat.

_"You... decided to win the lottery?"_

_"Yes, indeed. I was seventeen. First thing I did was buy out a dance studio. I've been teaching ever since. What's that, like, about twenty years ago? I'm not good with maths."_

Aziraphale's eyes snap open. " _What_?"

How did he not catch that before? He stares at her pale face in complete shock, then he jumps up and locates her bag with her belongings. He digs past the clothes and pulls out her purse. "I know it's an incredible faux pas to look through a woman's purse, my dear," he sends her an apologetic look, "I hope you can forgive me." 

Aziraphale opens her purse and finds what he's looking for. Lifting her identification to eye level, he gasps in astonishment at being right.

Angelique is not bad at maths. Or at least not complete rubbish.

Angelique was only off by two years.

Angelique doesn't look a day over twenty-five.

Angelique is thirty-nine years old. Two months away from forty to be precise.

It all adds up as Aziraphale gapes, head snapping from her identification to her form on the hospital bed.

Angelique is _not_ human.

Angelique is–

"Nephilim," Aziraphale breathes. "You're Nephilim."


	16. Three Oaths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale is our hero here if you haven't figured it out yet. So valiant. So soft. So... angelic! lol
> 
> Thank you Azeran and Intergalacticsupertwink for the incredible beta work. I swear, if I published this without you guys, I'd look like an imbecile. 
> 
> I hope you're all staying safe out there! I've heard some crazy stories. I know being cooped up sucks but your health is number 1! I'm doing my best to post every day to help us all forget the bullshit going on even if it's just a handful of minutes.   
> XOXO 
> 
> OKAY! HERE WE GO! Aziraphale is about to WIG out!

" _ Shit! Oh, shit! _ " Aziraphale exclaims and drops Angelique's identification as if it's imbued with Hellfire.

"Sir," Aziraphale spins around and holds his hands up in surrender, finding a nurse in the doorway. "Mind your tongue and volume please, you're disturbing the other patients." The man tsks and walks off with a huff.

Aziraphale looks around wildly. Fear comes upon him in full. He fumbles around, not knowing what to do first. He starts with running to the door and shutting it. Then he rushes in a panic to the window and closes the curtains. Then he tugs on his blond curls, almost ripping his hair out completely. 

" _ Why _ ?!" Aziraphale whines then he bites down hard on his fist to keep from swearing some more. "This is bad. This is very bad."

The angel paces back and forth, muttering things like, 

"Of course this would only happen to us."

"Crowley, always getting me into messes."

"The bastard."

"What do we do?!"

It's then he comes to the realisation that Crowley has buggered off to who knows where. He races to the phone and tears it off the wall. He has to hang up several times because he keeps punching in the wrong numbers. Finally, he gets it right. 

There's only one ring before it goes to voicemail. 

"Crowley! You need to come back _now_!" Aziraphale hangs up, groans and dials again.

This time it goes straight to voicemail. "Crowley, you despicable  _ cad _ . Get your scrawny arse back here this instant! There's been a significant development," he finishes with a harsh whisper. The angel looks over his shoulder, suspiciously. "I need to tell you something in  _ person _ ." He waits fruitlessly for a moment then sighs and hangs up.

All he can do is hope that Crowley will check his messages, but Aziraphale knows Angelique is not safe here. She's a sitting duck. They need to take her away and hide her.

There is no doubt in his mind now that Angelique had been attacked at the cafe. The Nephilim were all supposed to have been wiped out in the flood. It's been forbidden to beget more ever since. The sentence is destruction for anyone who dares break the rule. 

The Nephilim should be extinct, and yet, here was one. Either an angel or demon had a recent and mad urge to procreate despite the finality of the consequences or...

_ It runs in the family. _ "Jumping Jehoshaphat!"

... or one of Crowley and Aziraphale's rescues from the ark was Nephilim, and had an impressive succession streak.

"Oh, Good Heavens!" Aziraphale squeaks and slaps a palm to his forehead. His eyes bug out as he glances at Angelique. "It can't be." But with Crowley and Aziraphale's luck? "Oh, merciful  _ Christ _ on a cloud!" 

That was most likely it. 

Aziraphale was not so gullible as to believe that Heaven and Hell would leave him and Crowley alone forever. He knew they'd probably check in on them every so often. It must have been how Angelique was discovered. Her entire family tree had been hidden from both sides until she almost literally _waltzed_ into their lives. Angelique's whole family is in danger!

There's a subtle change in the air that Aziraphale only notices because his paranoia meter is at one hundred per cent. He feels like he's being watched, or like someone might be listening in. The assassin may not attack while Aziraphale stays by her side, but if they decide not to wait? Sooner or later, whoever is trying to kill Angelique will come to finish the job and probably try to take down anyone else who has figured out her secret.

What if it's more than one assassin? What if it's Azrael, the angel of Death, come personally?

" _ Fuck _ ," Aziraphale swears again. They need to leave. They need to leave right now. They can't go to the bookshop, they can't go to Angelique's flat. Crowley's place would be risky as well, especially if he used a miracle to get there. Aziraphale doubts Crowley will be home anyway. He's sure the serpent slithered off in shame to get pissed or sleep in some hole, the stupid snake. Wait. Aziraphale can't just pop in and out anywhere because Angelique has her barriers up! 

But even if he manages to leave with Angelique, if he hides her away, how will Crowley follow when he finally comes to his senses? Aziraphale would have to lie low. Conceal his aura. Drastically limit his use of miracles. 

Once more, Aziraphale tries to contact Crowley. As expected, it goes directly to voicemail. "Crowley," Aziraphale sighs forlornly and pinches the bridge of his nose. He tries to think, tries to come up with just the right words to clue Crowley in on what's happened but keep whoever is nearby in the dark. "I'm sorry we had a row. You're right. It's your fault but not how you think. We're  _ both _ at fault by  _ associating _ ourselves with this poor, very  _ human _ creature." 

He winces, hoping he has not been too obvious. "Did you know her birthday is in two months? She's turning  _ forty _ . Humans have such short lives, but she seems to have exceptional  _ genes _ . I'm sure she'll pull through and live a  _ long _ and happy life without us. For a  _ human _ , that is."

Aziraphale has never been good at placing human ages, but even he knows there's a vast disparity between how old Angelique appears and how she  _ should _ appear. So, he knows Crowley, who is more in tune with human trifles like that will figure something is up.

Aziraphale's eyes burn with fresh tears at the prospect of not seeing Crowley again for who knows how long. And leaving him in such a state!

"It's a blessing and a curse that we're  _ immune _ to both  _ Hellfire _ and  _ Holy Water _ , isn't it? We'll always live on, while the humans pass us by and leave us behind."

That should really drive the point home. But now, how to tell him where to find them?

"Say," he chuckles mirthlessly, "do you remember after the world was saved, how we talked about retirement?" He laughs again, clinging to the hope that Crowley recalls a specific drunken evening. "Ridiculous notion, eh? Can you imagine? Us, living like the humans, out in the middle of nowhere,  _ hidden _ away from above, below, and the world entire? We'd be bored out of our minds."

It's with profound sorrow that Aziraphale decides to leave it at that. "I'll wait here until she wakes up, or until family arrives to claim her."

There's a chance here to give his friend hope. To tell him how wrong the demon was about Angelique being the only one able to love him. 

He struggles with the words, his breath comes in shallow, his heart means to explode, and a hot, prickly sensation climbs up his neck. "When you've concluded your pity party, I do so hope you come and find me. Goodbye, my...  _ dearest _ ."

The receiver clatters to the floor, and Aziraphale doesn't bother picking it. As calmly as possible, the angel goes to the patient's side and embraces her.

"It's too bad you'll miss out on what may be my best illusion yet," he whispers into her ear. "I think you'll enjoy the South Downs." He gives her a chaste peck on the cheek. "Time to make like Houdini and, well, escape."

For some reason, somewhere, someone pulled the fire alarm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale is real smooth, isn't he? XD


	17. Three Lies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the story has a little plot after all! lol But it's a just a tiny one. The focus is on Aziraphale and his evolving/changing feelings.
> 
> Fucking Crowley, am I right? lol Sorry, guys! I know the angst was pretty bad. There's more but I don't think it's anything compared to those last couple of chapters!
> 
> Thank you Azeran and Intergalacticsupertwink for betaing and Brit-picking!

Crowley would be proud of him, Aziraphale is sure. To be honest, the angel is quite proud of  _ himself _ . Were it not for the unconscious beauty still cradled in his arms, Aziraphale would probably have a smug grin on his face right now. He allows himself a small smirk of victory as the last cab they'll need to take drives up to a cottage.

"Ye sure yer wife's alrigh'," asks the driver as he parks.

With a few barely-miracles and a couple of wedding bands, Aziraphale had been able to convince a few people along the journey of his wife's severe drinking problem. He'd have to apologise to Angelique later for tarnishing her reputation and, well, for unofficially getting them hitched. It would be mortifying, but necessary.

"Oh, yes, quite," he assures the cabby. "She'll be right as rain tomorrow, I can assure you."

"Terrible. And such a pretty lady," mutters the man. The cabby is kind enough to get out and open the door for them, which earns him a hundred per cent tip. 

It took the entire day to complete all of Aziraphale's diversions, backtracks, and misleads. He hired a few miscreants to charge Angelique's credit card in several places that led away from where they were headed, just in case the angel or demon had the know-how to track a human that way. Aziraphale gave a few people a big enough blessing to blip on the miracle radar in case he was being monitored. He took tubes one way, cabs the other, even gave his fake passport to a blonde traveller heading to the Himalayas. 

Aziraphale feels like James Bourne or Jason Bond in those movies Crowley forced him to watch. He feels... cool.

The cabby drives away and the front door to the vacation home he's commandeered opens on its own with a thought. The owners will not be coming around anytime soon, and in fact, are suddenly wondering if they should sell the place. He closes the door behind him with a small kick and lays Angelique on the settee.

On his knees next to the listless Angelique, he looks around the dark living area, checking the looming shadows first. Extending his senses, he checks the rest of the home and works his way outward in slow increments until he is satisfied. The small town is mostly asleep, and the stars are brighter out here. 

Aziraphale comes back to himself with a sigh of relief, dropping his head on the girl's shoulder. The blouse she's wearing has slid down, his forehead and nose are pressed into her cold skin. He takes in her fragrance, under the persistent hospital smell, is the light lingering trace of her perfume, and a hint of that very specific scent one gets when they've been outdoors for too long. It has a calming effect on him. It assures him that she's really here. That she's safe. With him.

Alone.

Aziraphale's head snaps up, his arse hits the floor, and he crawls back and away from the sleeping beauty. 

_ You're despicable. Smelling a woman while she lies there, in a coma, helpless.  _

Frustrated with himself and coming down from the adrenaline, Aziraphale drags a hand down his face and begins to do what he does best. Worry.

At least he doesn't have an erection, small mercy at this point, but he's not sure how long that will last having to watch over a woman he's in love with but can never have, alone together until...

The train of thought makes him gasp. First thing, he's admitted he's in love with Angelique is his head. Second, they're alone and holed up in a romantic cottage.

Crowley can't get here fast enough, he thinks. That will put him in his place, he's sure.

"Crowley," Aziraphale whispers, his jaw dropping at yet another shocking realisation. Crowley had basically bequeathed Angelique to him before departing. The demon's last words are on repeat as the angel holds his head in his hands. 

_ Take care of her. I know you'll make her happy. _

"Stupid serpent!" Aziraphale hisses angrily. "Oh, my dear," he laments in Angelique's direction, "Crowley better arrive before you awake. Or I'll discorporate him myself for handing you off to his 'next of kin' like you're some kind of old testament widow!" 

His righteous anger deflates while looking at Angelique's placid and pale face. That face should be beaming, should be smiling radiantly, should look like Angelique! He notices her lips seem slightly blue, which sends him shooting up and towards the fireplace. 

"What are we to do?" Aziraphale works quickly, and the log catches. "I can't miracle you warm, or feed you, or, or, anything!" 

He takes off his coat and places it over her. Then he pushes the couch close to the fireplace and dashes off to find blankets and maybe a hot water bottle. Apparently, the owners only vacation here on warmer months because their winter accessories are dismal. He descends the stairs, arms full of blankets and sheets, wondering if it's enough when he hears a small feminine groan.

In his hysteria, Aziraphale trips over said blankets and nearly gets tangled in them before he peers over the backrest of the couch. Angelique's eyes are still closed but scrunched up in pain, and her breathing is shallow.

"Angelique? Angelique, darl-dear, can you hear me? It's Aziraphale." He comes around the sofa, pulls her up so he can sit, and brings her into his lap. He pushes her locks back, and Angelique's eyes flutter open briefly. "Angelique, if you can comprehend me, you must listen. Please permit me to heal you. You need to concentrate and not resist me. Please, lo-Angelique."

She moans again, and her chapped lips part slightly. "Cro...," she whimpers, "Crow-ley...," the rest is unintelligible babble.

His heart feels like it cracks open, and it stings. For the first time in their extremely long friendship, Aziraphale has an itch to smite the demon. "He'll be here soon," he soothes, "but let me in now. I can help. Trust me." He bounces a knee a few times trying to jostle her awake some more. She opens her eyes again as a result. Her gaze is unfocused, and her eyelids are heavy. "Hello," he smiles down at her, "do you trust me?"

Angelique's eyes roll up before they snap to his face again.

"Angelique, please, I need you to trust me. Allow me to look within and heal whatever is ailing you. I can't do it without your permission, love," he pleads.

At the sound of the endearment, her pupils dilate, and she seems more focussed but confused. "Angel," she breathes just above a whisper.

Aziraphale's heart skips at the moniker, and he'd never thought he'd like anyone else calling him that, but hear he his, heart filling and melting at the same time. "It's imperative that–"

"Yes," she rasps, eyes looking fearful, "som-something's," she pants a few times and swallows, "wrong. I feel–"

Aziraphale senses a crack in her defences, and he jumps at the opportunity. She almost hurls him back at the sudden intrusion, but Aziraphale bestows as much peace as he can. When she relaxes, what he sees horrifies him.

Angelique has no physical ailments at all; the attack on her was purely spiritual. There's a slice completely down the centre being held together by a few threads. The two halves are desperately trying to sew themselves back together, but any progress forward sends them ripping apart again elsewhere.

Whoever attacked Angelique meant not only to kill but destroy.

Aziraphale gets to work. This will take a lot more power than any physical injury he's ever encountered. He helps her soul along, encouraging it, soothing it, and doing what he can to help knit itself back together. He can't do much, the human soul was created by God herself, not by angels, but because she has ethereal essence within, Aziraphale is confident she will heal.

The angel's corporation is sweating, and his damp clothes cling to his skin uncomfortably, but he feels nothing. He presses on and waits until her soul completes its final stitch. It glows brightly once, then simmers down, revealing a spiritual scar.

Aziraphale's eyes flutter open, and he's slightly startled to find Angelique awake and staring at him intently like she's never seen him before.

"Are you all right?" Aziraphale asks softly.

Angelique nods weakly, and her eyes shift around, taking in her surroundings. The first thing she asks is the million-dollar question Aziraphale was hoping he wouldn't need to answer.

"Where's Crowley?"

"Ah, yes, Crowley," Aziraphale bites back an oath and a grimace. "Well, long story, that, he, erm, he stepped out. I'm sure he'll be back soon."

Angelique blinks up at him, face expressionless. "Where'd he go?" She asks, tone equally void.

He hates having to lie but can't bear to tell her the truth. "You were attacked, eh, he had to lure the enemy away. I'm sure he's okay."

Angelique closes her eyes for so long he prays she's fallen asleep, but then he catches a tear roll down her cheek. "Are you lying to me?" She whispers hoarsely.

The girl has been through so much, why should she deal with heartbreak too? She doesn't need to know. Crowley will surely turn up, and when he does, Aziraphale will corner him and fill him in with his cover story. All will be well again.

"No, dear girl," his voice trembles in reply, "he'll be back."

Angelique opens her eyes, the whites are stained pink, and the tears fall free. "Aziraphale?"

"Hm?"

"You can't lie for shit." Angelique is quiet until an agonising sob rips out of her.

Aziraphale can almost hear her heart shattering to bits as she convulses in his arms, utterly destroyed. All he can do is rock her like an injured babe and repeatedly beg for her forgiveness.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	18. Three Truths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Azeran and Intergalacticsupertwink for the beta work. <3
> 
> So, I guess I might need to clarify that the initial attraction to Angelique (unbeknownst to both Crowley and Aziraphale) is because she is a Nephilim. They do bring it up but I think I should have done a better job with the clues. Like the kiss on the dance floor and why Aziraphale can't dismiss the strong love that Angelique emits. Not sure how to go about fixing that right now though.
> 
> Sorry for the subpar art this time. I did it pretty fast because I want to post every day lol so the quality suffered a bit.
> 
> As usual, your comments and support really make my days, especially in these crazy-ass times! I hope you are still healthy and safe!

Two whole nights and days, Angelique barely speaks a word. Angelique sleeps a lot, nibbles at whatever Aziraphale procures without leaving the house, and dutifully drinks lots of water and tea. He finally told her everything that happened. He'd been ready for another crying fit, but she didn't even sniff with sadness. It was worse. She was like a shell, a husk, unruffled and numb. 

The angel was beside himself with worry for her. On the third morning, after she barely eats her breakfast, Aziraphale pulls up a chair near her side of the bed and steeples his fingers over his lips.

"Angelique, it's all right to feel overwhelmed. I'm sure you have questions about your nature and the like–"

"I'm not," she replies dryly with a shrug.

He's confused and drops his hands into his lap to worry at his fingers. "Not what?"

"Overwhelmed," Angelique says, looking at her half-eaten toast. "When you told me what I am, it felt right. Almost like I'd already known. It's a bit surreal, but I'm fine, really."

"You're clearly not fine. I'm your friend, you can talk to me–"

"You mean how you talked to me when  _ you _ lied about being fine?" Her face is still blank, but her eyes are hard.

That shut him up. "Touche. But this situation is different, my–"

"How is it different?"

Aziraphale scoffs and flounders for a bit. "You're heartbroken."

"So are you."

The angel's jaw drops open. He makes some attempt to speak but has no idea what to say. He said he wouldn't lie to her again. Does staying silent count as lying? It doesn't matter because he can feel a fissure between them grow and it's making Aziraphale desperate to fix it. 

Angelique has still not looked Aziraphale in the eye. He licks his parched lips, clenches his fist and decides to open up a bit about something he's never been able to talk about.

"Yes." The angel is shocked that the admission comes out so calmly and easily. 

Surprise fixes itself on Angelique's expression. Her eyebrows shoot up, and there is a spark of hope in that look. It was obviously the right thing to say. It's the most feeling she's expressed since the first evening in the cottage. 

He can tell she's waiting for him to elaborate and it takes some time to form more words. "My heart," he pauses, hoping he won't start crying, "has been breaking for a  _ very _ long time. So long that I fear I've gotten rather used to it. But you see," he shifts uncomfortably in his chair, "it's my own doing." He gives her a sad smile. "So, it is a bit different. But suffering in any form is still suffering. I'm here for you if you'd like to talk."

The beauty lets out a long sigh and then flips her hand over and beckons for Aziraphale. He takes her offering a bit too eagerly, but there's nothing for it now. She stays silent for a while as she stares at their clasped hands and rubs her thumb over his knuckles softly. Every swipe sends a jolt straight to Azirphale's gut. 

"Aziraphale?"

"Yes, dear?" He swallows audibly in anticipation.

"I know we have a lot in common, but I'm not Crowley," she replies with a whisper.

The statement throws him, but he nods slowly anyway. "I know that."

She nods as well and purses her lips before seeming to come to some decision. "Do you love me?"

Someone might as well crack open the ground beneath him because Aziraphale is freefalling into a nervous breakdown. He can hear himself stammering from a faraway place.

"I-what-I-I I, nnn-ye-yes, of course, I-I lo-love all of, um, God's creatures, m'n-angel, after all. So. Eh. Yes. Yes. Of course."

Angelique stares at him in bewilderment before she bursts into a fit of giggles.

One hand still in Angelique's, Aziraphale only has the other to hide his face behind. Despite the incredibly awkward conversation, he starts to chuckle hysterically. The laughter quickly turns into sobs, and now he's full-on crying into his palm. He feels a tug and looks up briefly.

"Would you like to come to bed," she asks kindly.

With a snivelling inhale, Aziraphale shakes his head and squeezes her hand. "I'm fi–"

"If you finish that thought, I'm going to toss you out on your arse. I may be small, but I'm strong. You know I can do it." Angelique smiles wryly and cocks a brow, challenging him.

Aziraphale manages a good snort and nods. "Yes, I know you can."

"Come to bed?" She asks again gently.

"I don't know–I mean–I don't sleep. I don't think–"

"Aziraphale," her tone is commanding, it's the 'teacher voice' she uses in class that he's come to obey when on the dance floor. Her eyes pierce his own with a knowing look. "Come to bed."

Something clicks in Aziraphale's brain. He's not sure what it is, but there is no room to argue, and he finds he doesn't want to. Aziraphale stands on surprisingly sturdy legs. Angelique lifts the covers and moves back, giving him room. Her grasp is a lifeline that he grips almost painfully hard as he climbs into bed.

When Aziraphale wriggles into a comfortable position on his side facing her, he finally loosens his grasp on her hand. Angelique tucks them both in and lies down.

Their noses are nearly touching, and their eyes trace over each other's faces until they lock. There's a small twinkle in Angelique's gaze when she speaks in conspiring whispers.

"I think I have you figured out, Mr Fell."

Aziraphale can feel heat rush to his face at the way she utters his alias. "What is there to figure out?" He really wants to know. It feels like information he needs to piece himself together into something whole.

"It doesn't matter how much the world has shaped you," Angelique says like she's casting a spell, "or how far you are from Heaven. There's only one reason why you order the whole menu, why you hoard so much stuff, why you're late to every fucking appointment," and here they snigger together, "why you wear outdated clothes and use outdated words, why you're my best student," she smiles fondly at him. The smile fades, and she narrows her eyes. "Why you haven't told Crowley you're in love with him."

Aziraphale gasps and swears his heart has stopped.

Angelique waits for Aziraphale to breathe again. "Why," he rasps back.

"Because you're an angel," she replies with a grin. Angelique doesn't leave him confused for long. "Angels were created without free will, right? Even though you've claimed it for yourself," Angelique cups his cheek and grazes her thumb over Aziraphale's lips. "You're still wired to follow orders, my sweet soldier." 

The endearment warms his belly and makes his brain fuzzy. His lips are on fire.

"You don't like to choose, you have trouble deciding, you second guess yourself more than anyone I know, you don't change unless it's forced on you. You follow my direction without a single misstep on my stage."

A weight begins to lift off of the angel that he didn't know he was carrying. Something is shifting inside him. Things seem clearer. The sense that he's understood begins to shake his world. At the same time, he feels ashamed.

"It's pathetic, isn't it?" He asks with a frown.

"Not at all. You just need to practice taking control when it comes to some things and," she gives him a coy smirk, "be careful with who you hand control over to for  _ other _ things." She winks and then her eyes drop to his lips. 

The implication and the hunger in her eyes make Aziraphale's pulse quicken. "I would never get between you and Crowley," he deflects.

Angelique barks out a laugh. "Sweetheart, you've been  _ between _ us from the start!" She continues to chuckle while Aziraphale feels like she's just thrown a bucket of ice water over his head. "Oh, don't look at me like that," her smile is all teeth. "It never bothered me. I knew I'd lose him someday," her breath is shaky, and her eyes moisten, but her smile doesn't fade. "I knew what I was getting into. I didn’t think I’d fall so hard… or at all. I just wish," she sniffs and blinks away tears, "I was  _ hoping _ that I'd finally have a relationship that lasted a whole year." She chuckles mirthlessly. "And someone hot to show off at Christmas dinner. Give my parents some hope."

They're both laughing earnestly again.

"Well," Aziraphale clears his throat and squares his shoulders. "I might not be  _ hot _ , but I will escort you to Christmas dinner if you'll have me."

"Oh, you're hot."

"Lies are a slippery slope to Hell, madam." 

She pushes him playfully. "I love the way you look. It's perfect for you. You're perfect." Before Aziraphale can retort, the light goes out entirely in Angelique's whole demeanour. "Anyway, there may not even be a Christmas dinner. Ever again."

"Angelique, I promise you–"

"Don't," she snaps. "Don't promise me anything," she says again softer. "Just hold me for now. Until I fall asleep." 

It's not a request, and Aziraphale has no desire to object. 

  



	19. Three Theories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lighter chapter today folks! Hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Thank you beta's Azeran and Intergalacticsupertwink!

In the few weeks they've spent together in the cottage, a daily, domestic ritual has blossomed. 

While Angelique gains back her strength, Aziraphale tends to her in any way he can. First thing in the morning, Aziraphale quietly makes some breakfast. He's not a great cook, but he manages to make a decent scramble with toast and, of course, delicious hot cocoa without the use of any miracles.

Now that she's able to walk unassisted, sometimes Angelique comes downstairs on her own. Other times, Aziraphale brings breakfast to her in bed. He always pauses at the door before he knocks, in case she's having a cry. He wants to comfort her in times like those, but whenever he tries, Angelique will quickly try to dry her tears and paste a polite smile on her face. She obviously wants to shed her tears in private, so he waits. Her life has changed so drastically in such a short amount of time that Aziraphale can't help but be awed by the way she's handling it all.

Mornings are mostly quiet. She'll watch a little telly, volume low, avoiding the news. Or she'll write for a bit. She calls it her "morning pages."

In the afternoon, they take a stroll after eating some sandwiches, only around the cottage. Angelique has already mentioned she'd like to visit the village and the shore, but Aziraphale is hesitant to take her out in the open like that.

They play board games and cards, and Aziraphale discovers that Angelique is extremely competitive. He also finds out that letting her win is a high offence and never does it again after that one, fateful time. So, he always beats her at chess, and he can't help but laugh as she curses up a storm anytime he takes her pieces. She pays him back in full by wiping the floor with him when they play monopoly. 

After watching a film in the evenings, Angelique will pick a book, and Aziraphale reads aloud. He enjoys every moment with her, but this is his favourite pastime because Angelique has taken to snuggling close, or sometimes she places her head in his lap. On one occasion, Aziraphale began stroking her hair absentmindedly. She hummed in appreciation, and now he does it every time.

Sometimes though, she turns on the radio, finds him wherever he is, silently pulls him into the living area, and they dance. For a few songs, they both forget their troubles. But there's always a growing heat in his veins that's difficult to ignore. He's nearly discorporated on a few occasions from mortification. While Aziraphale tries his best to keep the distance necessary for her  _ not _ to feel a particularly hard area below his belt, she's inevitably pressed against it a few times. There's no way she didn't notice, but neither one of them mention those incidents. He thanks the Almighty for small mercies. 

Things only get worse for him when it's time to retire. Angelique has come to expect him to join her in bed and spoon her until she falls asleep. 

This is a stressful time for Aziraphale. Extremely challenging. Does she think that because he's an angel, he can just turn off his corporation's physical desires?! He made his Effort centuries ago. It's not like he can just wave it away now! Thank the Lord that she barely moves in her sleep. Aziraphale himself is a statue. When her breathing finally evens out, he escapes to the WC and takes care of the problem the human way.

After that, Aziraphale showers and heads back downstairs to think, to plan. 

So far, this is what he has formulated. One, he's quite sure that there is only one assassin. Two, he has a hunch it's an angel, but that's only because he can sense love from Angelique. Three, whoever it is, must be the one who sired her ancestor and is now trying to tie up loose ends he didn't know existed until he recognised his own essence in Angelique. 

This means a few things. The attacker is presenting as a male. The attacker has access to reports on Aziraphale and Crowley. And, the attacker is most likely working on his own to avoid being found out.

However, it doesn't matter how many times he runs through the facts and theories. Aziraphale is stuck in a cottage with a defenceless mortal. He cannot leave Angelique alone with nothing and no one to protect her. This is when he begins to damn Crowley to the ninth circle of Hell. 

Aziraphale is wondering if this is going to be his life for the next eighty to a hundred years depending on how long Angelique's unique genes will allow her to live. And then what? 

Aziraphale shudders at the thought of having to bury her, and there will be little he can do to protect her soul once it leaves her body. He hopes her assassin is a demon. That way, the monster will not be able to follow her past the gates of Heaven. He could guard her soul and leave her at the gates and then...

And then most likely never see her again.

"Aziraphale?" He hears her call from the bedroom. "Could you please come here?"

When he enters her room, he sees Angelique has laid out men's clothing on the bed.

"I need to get out of here, Aziraphale," she says, a bit crazed sounding. "I'm starting to lose it."

Aziraphale sighs and shakes his head. "Angelique–"

"Hear me out!" She takes his hand and drags him to the bed. "We'll wear disguises and have a backstory. Look!" She waggles her ring finger in his face. "We have the rings already!" She exclaims excitedly while he turns beet red. He'd wondered when she'd bring that up. "We won't draw attention. Please?!"

How can he say no? He closes his eyes, brings two fingers to his temple and rechecks the town for enemies like he does every day, multiple times a day. Nothing. "All right."

She cheers and starts to pull her pyjama shirt over her head.

"But only for a quick visit to the market for now. I suppose I should stop miracling food. We are out of milk and other small–" Aziraphale's eyes go wide at the sight of Angelique's bare– "breasts." 

Angelique jerks her head up to look at him and then down at her chest. "They're not  _ that _ small," she mutters with a pout. "I always thought they were quite proportional."

Aziraphale shakes his head and does an about-face before he stammers out a reply. "No, no. They are, erm, yes, proportional. Very nice." S _ tupid... _

"Thanks!" She chirps happily. "I'll cut my hair and wear this kid's clothes. And then you can wear this." 

A shirt and a pair of denim trousers land on his head. He picks them up like they might give him plague. "Must I?"

"If you go out looking like you usually do, you  _ will _ attract attention, sweetheart. Us appearing as a couple will already look a bit... odd. No need to cause more of a stir."

"Odd?" Aziraphale frowns. "Why odd?" He makes the mistake of assuming it's safe to turn around and catches a perfect glimpse of Angelique's lovely arse right as she's squeezing into a pair of briefs. "Good lord." The angel covers his eyes with the button-down in his hand.

"Well," she says simply like she's not killing him slowly with her brazen behaviour, "the clothes will make you look younger, but our age difference will still be apparent. Especially with your hair colour. I think I saw a hat somewhere."

Aziraphale scoffs. "My corporation cannot look older than fifty, and you're actually turning fort–" she rips the shirt out his hands and glares up at him.

"What now?" Angelique says with a sharp warning tone. 

The angel remembers something about age and women and clears his throat. "I see your point. I'll look like your, what's the expression? Sugar father?"

Angelique doubles over and guffaws for quite some time. Still chuckling, she reaches for Aziraphale's waistcoat and begins to unbutton it. He gasps and swats her hands away. "Some propriety, madam! Honestly!" 

"He says after watching me strip–"

"I did  _ not–!"  _ Aziraphale cuts himself off, huffs, and storms out of the room while listening to Angelique's tinkling giggles. "She's going to ruin me."

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you giggled!


	20. Three and-and-and...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another light chapter. lol Don't get used to it.
> 
> Thank you betas Azeran and Intergalacticsupertwink! Couldn't do this without you!

They leave the cottage in their new disguises. Angelique's new hairdo manages to change her face quite drastically. She now sports bangs, and the rest of it hangs no further than her jaw. She forgoes wearing any makeup and instead is wearing boy's clothing. With a few feminine accessories and simple jewellery she managed to dig up, Angelique is really pulling off her new look.

Aziraphale wears a simple button-down shirt with long sleeves that Angelique insisted should be rolled up to his elbows. He has no idea why. Covering his platinum curls is a tweed newsboy cap, and he's wearing–brace yourselves–denim trousers with  _ trainers _ .

"I look ridiculous," he mutters down at Angelique self-consciously. 

"Oh, stop," she beams up at him and squeezes his arm, "I love your usual wardrobe, but you look handsome in this as well. We'll get a few pints, play some darts or something, and then we can go home."

_ Handsome. Home. _ Aziraphale pushes down the bubbling happiness he feels at hearing the words. "I'll be ordering wine, thank you very much," he says primly and turns up his nose.

They enter the pub, which is busy and loud on a Friday evening and Aziraphale leads her straight to a small table toward the back. "All right, Ange–eh–l of mine," he blushes. 

"Lizzie," she whispers helpfully.

"Right. Lizzie. Stay here, and I'll fetch our beverages," Aziraphale turns around and starts for the bar when Angelique replies.

"Thank you, love!"

One foot still raised, Aziraphale halts and quickly recovers from what he believes is a heart-attack, then continues onward. He orders a dark ale for Angelique and a red blend for himself. When he procures the spirits and turns around, he finds that Angelique is sitting at their table, flanked by two young men. They look about her age, well, her fake age, and they look drunk.

_ Drat. _

As he pushes and winds his way through the establishment, he catches some of what the uninvited guests are saying.

"C'mon, le' us buy ye a dr-drink, yeah?"

Angelique smiles politely. "I already said my husband is on his way with our drinks, thank you."

"What? Tha ol' poof ye came in with?"

The lights flicker briefly over Angelique's head, and her eyes look like they could murder. Just as she opens her mouth, Aziraphale forcefully places their glasses on the table.

"Well, now, making friends already, my love?" He wills away a blush at what's just come flying out of his mouth without his permission. "The name's Ezra, how do you do?" He gives the hooligans a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Apologies, chap, but I do believe you are in my seat."

The bloke frowns and looks up at Aziraphale in disgust. He stands and wobbles then grabs for Aziraphale's collar. "Listen 'ere y' pansy–"

No miracle is necessary when Aziraphale snatches his hand and squeezes until several cracks can be heard. "Now, now, no need for name-calling or violence."

"OOOoo! Ow-ow-ow!" The man pulls his hand out of Aziraphale's grasp and trips over his friend, sending them both crashing to the ground.

Aziraphale merely pulls the now empty chair next to Angelique and sits down like nothing. "And from now on, you will have more respect for women and the LGBT community." It's a mild angelic suggestion that he knows will stick.

The men scurry away and head for the exit.

"Ah, there we are," the angel says merrily while pushing Angelique's pint in front of her. He glances up, and his breath hitches at the look she's giving him. "Eh..." he says, intelligently right before she lunges at him and plants her lips on his. "Mmmff!" His surprise turns into intoxication when she opens her mouth and swipes his bottom lip with her tongue.

The kiss lingers, and Aziraphale is about to respond in kind when Angelique pulls back and ducks her head with embarrassment. She seizes her glass, throws her ale back, then slams it back on the table after a few large gulps. 

"There," she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, "that should make things clear to everyone, don't you think?" Her pitch is high, and she looks everywhere but at him.

Aziraphale's lips are still frozen in a pucker when a live band starts to play. "Mm. Yes. Clear. Very." He forgets to let his wine breathe and takes a swig. The only thing keeping him from spitting the almost-vinegar back out is his unyielding grasp on decorum, and a hunch that he might need it to survive the evening.

They’re stiff and quiet for the first round. Angelique starts to droop in her seat and begins to stare solemnly at her half-empty glass. Aziraphale leans in. “If you don’t like your ale, I can get you something else. I’d offer you my wine but I’m almost positive it’s a cleaning agent of some kind.”

Angelique scoffs and smirks but the small smile dies quickly. “It’s not the ale.”

The angel nods sagely and thinks she’s melancholic because of her situation, maybe thinking of her family.

“I shouldn’t have kissed you,” she says so low that Aziraphale could have missed it.

He feels a small punch to the gut. 

“I should have asked, I’m sorry. And I’m sorry about the whole married backstory thing. Maybe we should have done, I dunno, siblings, or maybe you could have been my–”

“Don’t say, father,” he says in warning.

She laughs. It’s a small balm to the hurtful thought that she regrets kissing him. “If you’re going to be stuck babysitting me, you should at least be able to, you know, find, erm, company.”

Aziraphale experiences a long moment of confusion before he understands what she means. “Oh! Oh, no, no, no. I’m not interested in anyone but you.” His eyes nearly pop out of their sockets at what that sounded like. What’s worse is that Angelique is looking at him with a hopeful smile and what is he supposed to say now? “I meant, I mean, I have no desire to, ah, have other company–like  _ that _ .”

Angelique’s smile falters a little but she still seems pleased. “Oh, okay.” She takes a drink, then another, and then inhales deeply before she speaks again. “If you did, want company, like _that_. What, ah, what would be your type? Apart from redheaded demons, that is.”

The pub is starting to feel quite small, and a tad bit too warm. Aziraphale glares at her for a moment and then finishes his wine. She’s already waving for another round so he can’t change the subject. “I don’t much have a type, actually. It’s, erm, it’s been,” he clicks his tongue and fidgets with his empty glass, “it’s been a while.”

Thankfully, Angelique doesn’t react much to his admission. “You must have preferences though, right?”

Aziraphale shakes his head and shrugs. “When I began my venture into experiencing the, heh, pleasures of the flesh, many centuries ago, my partners were mostly male. For several reasons, really, but mostly it was because it was less complicated.” His eyebrows shoot up as he takes a generous swallow from his new glass.

“Less complicated to be with a man? Wasn’t it worse back then to be with a same-sex partner?”

_ Why is she so curious? Best not think too deeply on the answer.  _ “Well, if one was _discreet_ , it wasn’t much of a problem. Much harder to tarnish a man’s reputation than a woman’s, especially then.” He clears his throat. “And a man would never try to corner you into marriage.” Aziraphale chances a glance in Angelique’s direction and finds her smiling wickedly.

“Oh, there’s a story there!” She laughs openly and then slaps his shoulder. “Do tell!”

The angel rolls his eyes but chuckles. “Not much to tell. I was a bit naive about the customs of the time–”

“No!” Angelique gasps and sends a hand to her chest. “You? Not with the times?!”

He glowers but the corners of his mouth turn up anyway. “I was also inexperienced and eager to… experience.” He ignores her sniggers. “A young lady, on the brink of becoming a spinster, had her eye on me. She was quite forward, come to think of it. We enjoyed ourselves for a bit, but then on one occasion, I found her mother in a tizzy, planning our wedding.”

As expected, Angelique bursts out laughing. 

Maybe it’s because of the alcohol, or that enough time has passed since the incident, or maybe it’s the lovely company, but Aziraphale begins to chortle as well. “Don’t laugh! It was a bloody nightmare! Have you any idea how many miracles it took to fix that debacle?!”

The night gets easier for them both from then on, and Aziraphale finds that he’s really enjoying himself. He knows they're drinking too much. He  _ knows _ this. But he also knows he can sober himself up, and her, if need be. It wouldn't be too big of a miracle, he doesn't think. So, Aziraphale lets it happen. He lets it  _ all _ happen.

All of it.

At some point, Angelique tucks herself under Aziraphale's arm, or he drapes his arm over her shoulder. He’s not sure. It's too loud to be heard without yelling, or, in their case, leaning in very close and speaking directly into the shells of their ears. He feels a tingling sensation every time her lips brush his sensitive earlobe, and he wonders if she feels it too. It's all fine, right? They're married! Haha! Aziraphale feels warm, jovial, and so content, and  _ so _ very,  _ very _ drunk.

"Your lipss'r purple," Angelique breathes and sniggers almost directly into his cheek.

It's his turn to press his nose into her hair and murmur, "S' from the rubbish, dismal, horrid, grape syrup they call wine I've imbibed all evening for," he boops her nose, "you." He' tilts his head up with pride for saying all that without slurring.

Angelique gazes at him with a confused brow and an amused smirk. "You're slurrin', y' big ol' lush."

Aziraphale gasps dramatically. "M'not drunk. You haven't," the _t_ sounds harder than he meant it to come out, "seen m'drunk."

Angelique is already shaking her head and laughing. "All I hear is, wha-wha-wha-wha," she says while using her hand like a puppet.

The angel is wheezing, but he's determined to be understood, so he moves in to repeat himself at the same time Angelique turns her face to say something else and–

And when did his tongue get in her mouth?

And how did they end up back in the cottage?

And Angelique was right, her breasts are proportionate to the rest of her, and they fit so nicely in the palm of his hand... and mouth.

And,  _ lord _ , her skin is so soft, but her nipples are hard on his tongue, and she's so wet on his fingers, and her moans are so pretty, and she smells divine, and - one taste is all he wants. Just one little lick and-and-and-- 

And now he’s asleep.


	21. Three Broken Hearts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did someone say "not enough angst?" hmm? No one? Just me? Ah, well. You're getting more anyway!
> 
> Thank you Azeran and Intergalacticsupertwink for betaing and Brit-picking!

The first thing Aziraphale notices is that everything is orange, and it is so horribly bright. Then the pain and nausea overwhelm the rest of his senses.

"Oh God," Aziraphale groans. He's in the process of being discorporated; he's sure. Why couldn't the assailant have killed him swiftly? Why this torture? How very cruel of the monster to slay him in such a fashion. Rude.

"Mmm," a feminine, gentle moan graces Aziraphale's pounding ears. He holds his breath.  _ Oh, no, have they gotten Angelique too?!  _

Aziraphale snaps his eyes open only to shut them again quickly. With another groan, he forces his eyelids to pry apart and is met with a leg.

"What the devil," he mutters and squirms until he can lift himself and get a better look around. What he sees has him blinking with confusion. It's like his eyes are seeing, but the connection between his eyes and head are temporarily out of order. Slowly, his brain supplies him with some facts.

He's in bed. Angelique is in bed. Angelique's shirt is pulled over her breasts, and they rise and fall gently with her breathing. Angelique's bare leg is over his shoulder, trapping his head between her–

"Mother of pearl," Aziraphale rasps when he is quite literally faced with Angelique's naked sex. 

He wants to scramble away. He wants to stay put. He briefly wants to bury his face in her lovely dark curls. The massive hangover has him sluggish and not thinking straight at all. He licks his parched lip and swallows hard before he gently lifts Angelique's leg -an awful mistake, he realises too late - and squirms his way out. Miscalculating the distance of the edge of the bed, Aziraphale rolls right off and lands on his back with an agonising thud. 

The angel swallows down another groan with great effort and holds his head in his hands. This is about when he remembers he's an angel with powers to right this situation and so he closes his eyes, and wills away the migraine and general feeling of wretchedness. The pain ebbs away slowly as he rehydrates himself. Once the only nasty sensation of his cottonmouth is left, Aziraphale rises on his elbows, looks himself over, and baulks.

Wonderful. 

Bloody fantastic.

A right, exemplary soldier of the Almighty, he is.

His shirt is ripped open but only exposes his vest beneath. That's obviously not the issue. The  _ issue _ is, his trousers are bunched by his ankles, and his pants are wedged under his fully exposed, raging morning wood.

What's worse? A woman, a woman he respects and loves dearly, a woman whom his best friend was in a loving, committed relationship with for almost a year, a woman who's trusted him to protect her, lies unconscious and exposed in the bed next to him.

Suppressing the urge to cry out, Aziraphale allows himself to open his mouth in a silent scream. After his conniption has settled into a dull self-loathing he's more familiar with, Aziraphale rights his clothes and quietly stands up. 

He tries not to ogle at the beautiful figure sprawled innocently on the mattress while he drapes a sheet over her. Angelique's shortened locks cover most of her face and Aziraphale reaches out to tuck them away before he recoils back. With a trembling sigh, the angel miracles a tall, cold glass of water onto the nightstand and leaves the room.

He is in the kitchen, making cocoa and toast while he slowly dies inside. His brain does a fabulous job at flashing memories of the night before at the most inconvenient moments. He's already dropped two cups, forgotten to warm the milk, and has listlessly circled the kitchen thrice looking for a spoon.

The creaking of floorboards above him makes Aziraphale shudder with dread. He has no idea what to do so he just stands there as the soft padding of bare feet come down the stairs and toward the kitchen. 

And there she is, wrapped in a much too-large, flannel dressing gown, looking absolutely adorable even with a petulant frown on her face. 

"Ugh," Angelique moans, "I've never had a hangover in my life. This is awful. Take it away-take it away!" She whines dramatically as she reaches out for him with grabby hands, fisting them in his shirt, and nuzzling into his chest.

Aziraphale swallows down the bile that lurches up in his throat and places trembling fingers through Angelique's mussed tresses. A small pulse is all it takes for her to sigh with relief and melt into him further. She hums with appreciation and drags her hands away from his shirt and wraps them around his waist. Aziraphale can hear her breathe him in and it makes his heart jitter. He wants nothing more than to return her embrace, but he's not sure he should.

The angel lets his hands drop to her shoulders and risks no more. He's sure Angelique can hear his heart chugging like a steam-engine, which only makes him more nervous.

"Angelique," Aziraphale says hoarsely. His tone must sound grave because Angelique stiffens in his arms. He clears his throat. "Do you remember, er, everything that happened last night?"

"Yes." She gives nothing else away and waits for him to continue.

"Ah, I see. Well, eh, I owe you an apology," he replies. "It was uncouth of me to, well, you know, to say the least, and I can assure you, it won't happen again."

There's a long moment of silence before Angelique responds. "What if I want it to happen again?" She asks softly and unsure. "I mean, drinking and aftereffects aside, I–I had a, well, I had a nice time." Her voice seems to shrink away to almost nothing when she asks, "did you...?"

Aziraphale closes his eyes. There were some words he had been able to put together while coming to terms with what happened, but it's hard to latch onto them now. What he  _ has _ to say is not what he  _ wants _ to say. But he says it anyway.

"Regardless of that, I don't think we should have a repeat of  _ anything _ that transpired last night," Aziraphale almost whispers. He feels numb now as if the words he'd spoken had stripped him of any joy he could ever hope to have.

He hears the sweet thing in his arms gasp a few times before she starts to tremble. Angelique pries herself away, and Aziraphale's hands itch to stop her. She's pallid, and her face is blank and guarded. 

"Why?" She lets out and shuts her mouth swiftly and tightly.

Aziraphale sighs. "Crowley."

Angelique nods quickly. "Right. Of course." She hugs her middle and looks at the floor. "Of course, you're in love with Crowley. I understand. I-I, yes, I'm sorry–"

Aziraphale blinks twice before he realises she's misunderstood him. Or has she? "He'll come back to you, Angelique. He loves you." It's out of his mouth before he comprehends what he's saying.

Angelique looks up at him wildly, a vast array of emotions flit across her perfectly chiselled face. "Did he tell you that? Did he say that?"

Aziraphale's mouth goes dry. "He didn't have to–"

"Because he's never said that to me," Angelique interrupts him, anger beginning to lace her words. "It didn't bother me much." She shrugs and tightens her hold on herself. "Actions speak louder than words and all that, and he certainly did  _ act _ like he loved me--" a sob breaks through, her eyes moisten, and Aziraphale makes to move for her, but she backs away quickly. "Then, he left me. Didn't even wait for me to wake up, the coward." She takes a few deep breaths. "And I thought... Crowley thought that you might..." she lets out a mirthless laugh and shakes her head. Tears finally begin to fall. "It doesn't matter. I'm so..." she hiccups, "I'm so  _ stupid _ ." Before she's even finished that sentence, she bolts up the stairs.

Aziraphale gets over his shock a bit late, but he chases after her. He can't leave her in such a state, leave her thinking she's not wanted or... loved. When he turns the knob, he finds the door is locked. He thinks about using a miracle but decides to respect her space and knocks instead.

"Angelique, you are not in any way, shape or form, stupid. I really do believe that Crowley will come back. He always does."

Aziraphale doesn't expect a reply, and he definitely doesn't expect what she says next.

"He always comes back for  _ you," _ there are a few muffled sobs in between her words. "You should tell him, you know? You should tell him how you feel. And you shouldn't have to stay here with me. I've put you both in danger."

"Nonsense–"

"I'll be alright on my own. I'm sure I can, I think I can get access to my account and start somewhere new."

Her sobs are wracking, and Aziraphale is about to kick down the door. "I'm coming in."

"Please don't!" She pleads. "Please leave me alone."

"I must speak with you properly. I have things I want to say, and this is no way to say them–"

"Later. Please. I'm tired. I need to sleep some more. Please."

Leaving her to stew is the last thing he wants to do but... "All right. Get some rest. But we should talk when you wake up." Aziraphale hesitates at the door. He wants to leave her with something she can hold on to. "You... you  _ are _ loved, Angelique. Please believe that."

He waits.

"Thank you." The words can barely be heard, but Aziraphale does hear them, and he sighs with some relief. 

"Right. I'll be downstairs if you need me, just call out and I'll be here in a tick," he says lightly. "You will hear me out later, won't you?"

Another long silence, not even crying, can be heard.

"Yes."

"Good," Aziraphale utters gently, more to himself than to her. "Until later then."

Aziraphale goes back downstairs and sits on the winged chair in the parlour. He picks up a book and opens it. He finds he has to reread the same paragraphs over and over again because he can't stop thinking about what he wants to tell Angelique. He's decided to confess his feelings for her. His very confused feelings. He  _ will _ tell her when she finally calls for him.

But she doesn't call. The sun has set, and Aziraphale hasn't heard a peep, she hasn't even gone to the loo.

Now it's late. It's passed the time he usually joins Angelique in bed to bless would be nightmares away and to just hold her until she drifts off.

He closes the book and makes his way to her room. He knocks. "Angelique?"

No response.

He knocks harder. "May I come in?" More silence. "You said we could talk, and I have very important things to say, and I'd rather not say them to a door."

The silence is deafening, and Aziraphale is beginning to fret. "Angelique," he calls out loudly, "you're worrying me. If you don't answer, I'll have to force my way in."

She doesn't answer. Aziraphale snaps his fingers and rushes inside.

Angelique is not in bed. 

Or under it. 

Or in the closet. 

And the window is open. 

_ "No. No." _

Aziraphale knows it's fruitless, but he searches the whole house anyway. 

Angelique is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eeep! How is everyone doing? :D


	22. Three Commands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW content ahead! LIME!

To say that Aziraphale is beside himself with worry is the understatement of the millennium. He's trying very hard to keep it together while he searches high and low for his charge, his friend, his... something. 

Crowley is going to kill him.

Crowley. Is going. To  _ kill _ him.

Aziraphale hopes the Almighty gets to him before Crowley does for his complete and utter failure at protecting anything and anyone, and for driving the people who love him away. That's the worst of it. This is all his doing. He pushed Angelique away just like he pushed Crowley away. 

Why, why,  _ why _ can't he do anything right?!

At this rate, Aziraphale's emotional constipation is going to get his loved ones killed, or worse!

Oh, he's searched everywhere. It hasn't been a full twenty-four hours yet, but it feels like ages. He hasn't called the authorities. He hasn't called Crowley.

What if she just needs some time away? What if she comes back? Where can she go? She has no money, no transportation, no bloody protection from strangers or immortals set on destroying her! Oh, when he finds her he's going to, he's going to–

He's going to make sure Angelique knows he is _extremely_ cross with her! How could she put herself in danger like this?! She said she'd talk to him. She assured him that she would... she would... it's hopeless, isn't it?

Utterly hopeless, but what else can he do? The only thing left to do is call Crowley. Not that Aziraphale believes the demon will answer. The angel makes a decision. He'll continue searching, and if Angelique does not return by nightfall, he's going to use a rather tremendous miracle to summon the demon by force.

Aziraphale's search is interrupted by a small blip on his angelic radar. He had used minor miracles on all the entrances of the house to alert him of intruders. Someone has trespassed. His brain immediately jumps to Angelique, but what if it's not? What if it's her attacker?

Aziraphale redoubles his efforts to conceal himself and his aura and pulls his flaming sword from the aether. Heaven had yet to figure out that he had returned a fake three years prior. He'd kept it for emergencies, insurance. Now was as good a time as any to use it.

The sun is setting behind him when Aziraphale lands quietly in the overgrown garden behind the cottage. The angel is frazzled beyond words, and his anxiety is mounting to great heights, but he pushes onward. Before he opens the backdoor, he lights his blade. He wills the hinges not to creak and closes off his lungs though they protest. He looks into every shadow, and he peers carefully around corners. He inches his way into the parlour and–

Aziraphale freezes at the sight of Angelique kneeling before the fireplace, drenched and shaking as she tries to light the tinder.

All the air he was holding rushes out of him loudly, the sword extinguishes and clatters to the ground. 

Angelique spins around, eyes wide and fearful. 

They stare at each other in silence for a long while before Angelique pipes up. "I'm  _ sorry _ ," she whispers, lip quivering, "I went a few towns over, I thought it'd be safer, I know I should have left a note or told you, I was just so, so - I just wanted to call my mum." The matches fall from her hands, and she starts to cry. "Her number is disconnected. I dunno, I dunno what to do... I just want my mum," she buries her face in her hands and sobs, "I want my mum–"

Aziraphale has her in his arms in a flash. It's then he notices that he's soaked to the bone as well. "Come," is all he says as he hoists her up and cradles her. He rushes up the stairs before he can think better of it and only sets her down when he steps into the bathtub. 

Aziraphale's arm is still supporting Angelique, wrapped around her, and her head is tucked into his chest as he turns the water on. The stream hits the back of his head, frigid. He's already chilled down to the marrow, so it doesn't phase him. He wraps his other arm around her and waits for the water to heat. Angelique's muffled sobs are heartbreaking, but Aziraphale's already been through the wringer more times than he can count today, so he's calm. In fact, hasn’t felt this clear-headed since that day at the airbase. And he knows exactly what to do and what to say.

The angel turns them around once steam starts to rise and the nape of his neck thaws. Angelique jolts and hisses at the jarring temperature change, but it cuts her crying and turns her sobs into small hiccups. He waits. He knows waiting is what got them into this mess to begin with, but Aziraphale doesn't think Angelique can hear him yet. So, he rubs her back and kneads her tense shoulders until she's quiet and pliant. When Angelique finally does calm, he pulls back enough to tilt her head up and meet his eye.

"You gave me such a fright, darling," Aziraphale murmurs. He ignores the surprise in her eyes. "I love you dearly." He ignores her gasp. "Please don't ever do anything like that again." Aziraphale pushes her wet bangs back. "I truly believe your parents are safe, but mark my words I will find them." Here he has to swallow down the lump forming in his throat. "I know what it's like to feel like you have no one else to turn to, not even your mother. But we are never truly alone. We are never truly friendless. And I am here for you, Angelique."

Angelique's eyes widen, and her jaw drops. She's looking above his head in awe. Aziraphale doesn't have to guess as to what she sees. He can feel his true form is close to the surface, and holy light is reflected in Angelique's eyes. 

The angel places a tender kiss to Angelique's forehead, then leans down, eyes still locked on hers. "I'm  _ your _ guardian now,  _ your _ angel. Give me your orders now, and I shall obey."

She's looking at him like she's never seen him before in her life. "I," she breathes, "I don't know what to say."

"Well," Aziraphale gives her a crooked smile that crinkles his eyes, "if you ordered me to kiss you right now," he shrugs, "I'd have to comply now, wouldn't I?"

Stunned, Angelique manages a huff and a bewildered smirk. "Okay," she replies cautiously, "kiss me then."

It doesn't take a moment for Aziraphale to tilt his head and kiss her senseless. When she pulls on his borrowed shirt, he gives in and presses her up against the tiles. Angelique opens her mouth, and their tongues meet. Aziraphale has a knee between her legs and she ruts on him.

"Please," Angelique manages between kisses, "I need, I need..."

"Mhm," he knows what she needs. 

It won't be like the previous night. He's in control. He knows not to go too far. It's not the right time for it. But he can feel her need for some kind of relief from the tumultuous events that have transpired. 

"Tell me," he rasps in her ear, then peppers kisses down her jaw. "Tell me what you want."

Angelique whines and rocks. "Touch me. Touch me, please."

It feels right when Aziraphale nips at her neck. It feels right when he drags a hand up her sodden shirt, cups her breast, and rubs circles on her hardened nipple. It feels right when his other hand fumbles with her trouser button and zips down the fastener. It feels right, dipping his digits down her clothed mound, then tugging her pants aside and grazing her tender, warm flesh with the pads of his fingers. 

Aziraphale doesn't even need to penetrate, he rubs slowly but purposefully, and Angelique begins to unravel quickly with keens and moans. 

"More," she commands, and Aziraphale obeys. 

He thrusts his hips in time with his hand, grunting and groaning softly into her ear. Another deep kiss and a flutter of his fingers, and Angelique comes apart, tearing her mouth away to cry into his chest with pleasure this time. 

Angelique relaxes and pants into his shirt. Before she's come down completely, her hand begins to claw at his belt. Aziraphale takes her by the wrist, brings up her hand and kisses her palm.

"Time for that later, love," he smiles genuinely and then plants another kiss to her lips. She can barely keep her eyes open. "It's been a tiresome day. You're positively knackered, and I can do with lie-down, myself." With a final thrust onto her hip and a tender kiss to her bare collarbone, Aziraphale pries himself away and shuts off the hot water that hadn't dared run out.

Angelique is as pliant as wet clay as Aziraphale helps her undress and towel dries her. Her naked form is of no concern to him at the moment. His main goal is to care for Angelique. 

"Go on, dear," he tells her gently, "put on something warm and get to bed. I'll join you in a moment."

Angelique complies without a word, slowly and limply, she walks out. Aziraphale removes his clothes and dries himself quickly. In nothing but a dressing gown, he climbs into bed next to a sleeping Angelique, blesses her dreams, and holds her until the world, and all its troubles fall away for the night.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feeling a bit better? Or worse?   
> Curious, how do you all feel about Angelique now?


	23. Three Fucks and Some

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW content ahead! LIME! 
> 
> Hope you enjooooy!
> 
> Thank you Azeran and Intergalacticsupertwink for the amazing beta work!

There's a rustling of sheets when Aziraphale comes to. His eyes are still closed as he recalls the events of the previous night. Aziraphale would like to hang on to that feeling of confidence and boldness that possessed him upon finding Angelique alive and unharmed. He's going to need those virtues because Crowley's face floats to the surface, and Aziraphale instantly feels guilty.

The angel can sense he's being watched, but he doesn't want Angelique to think he regrets anything, which he doesn't, it's just... ugh, Crowley. Then Aziraphale remembers that one, he and Crowley are not intimately involved, and, two, Crowley all but declared that Aziraphale shack up with Angelique in his stead. The demon didn't just give permission, he asked Aziraphale to care for her and make her happy. If being with Aziraphale makes Angelique happy, then what does he have to feel guilty about?

Aziraphale takes a deep inhale, and his eyes flutter open. As expected, Angelique is awake and gazing at him with questioning eyes. That's all he can see though, because she's covered the rest of her face with the duvet.

All of his worries and indecisions are always a fight between what he wants and what he believes is right. As it happens, when Aziraphale desires something, he's already halfway thinking he’s nose-diving into temptation and sin. Falling has always been a concern, but he finds he's not as frightened of the notion as he used to be. 

And here is the temptation, literally staring him in the face. But something is only a temptation when it's something you can't or shouldn't have. Aziraphale has accepted that he  _ can _ have this, he can have  _ her.  _ It's allowed. But  _ should _ he take? What makes him deserving? 

"Hi," Angelique utters softly.

Aziraphale knows that love does not need to be deserved. And that is what this is, as confusing as it may be, it's love.

"Good morning," he replies with a smile.

"Is it?" Angelique's eyes narrow and shift as she tries to gauge his sentiments. 

His smile blooms wider while he tugs on the blanket, exposing the rest of Angelique's face. "Mhm," Aziraphale hums, leans in, but then frowns, "unless you think otherwise."

"No!" She barks then blushes. "I mean, it is a good morning," she smirks shyly. She pulls up the duvet again, this time over her hold head and mumbles, "It could be better."

Aziraphale chuckles. "I suppose you'll tell me how I can make it better," he tells the lump of blanket.

"Or," Angelique lilts, "how  _ I _ can make it better."

The angel's eyebrows shoot up. "Ah, well," his pitch climbs a bit, "Whatever you like, of course, but, ah, as I've mentioned before," he clears his throat, "it's been quite some time." He can feel her inching closer to him under the blanket, and he gulps with nervousness. "Even longer with the, um, the female," he coughs, "sex."

Angelique snickers immaturely and edges closer, their legs are now touching. "Did alright last night."

"Alright?" He mocks. "Very encouraging, Angelique, much appreciated," he deadpans.

She laughs openly and finally emerges from her hiding place with her face scarlet. It's beyond fetching. "You're naked."

Aziraphale shuts his eyes and purses his lips. It's only now when she's drawn attention to it that he realises he'd fallen asleep in the gown and there's a slight breeze and a lack of fabric touching his skin below the waist. She's already gotten an eyeful of his naked body and hard cock. "Fuck."

Angelique gasps loudly. "Aziraphale!"

He opens his eyes and finds Angelique with her mouth open in shock, but her eyes are smiling wickedly. "I'm sure you've heard the expletive before today."

"But not from _thine_ most holy lips, fair angel!" She slaps the back of her hand to her head like she's going to faint.

Aziraphale huffs. "It's  _ thy _ , in that case. And I've uttered the oath before, at least a handful of times now."

"Wow," Angelique arches a brow.

"What?" Asks Aziraphale, holding back a smile, "not enough for my long life on Earth?"

Angelique shakes her head. "No, I can see it really  _ has _ been too long since you've been with a woman," she says seriously.

"Why?"

"Because you've just corrected one."

Aziraphale snorts and laughs but then falters when he sees her grave and darkened expression.

"Oh, my," he swallows hard and then nearly levitates off the bed when Angelique's hand suddenly wraps around his cock. "Ha! Ho-dear!"

"Not to worry," she nearly growls, "I've been told I'm an excellent teacher." She gives him a sharp but controlled tug that knocks the wind out of the angel and makes him see stars.

"Gah- _ fuck _ ," pants Aziraphale.

"And you'll be shouting  _ that _ a handful more times in just one morning." 

Angelique lets him go, and an embarrassing whimper escapes him. The whimper turns into a long whine when she slowly licks her palm while staring him dead in the eyes. 

"Oh, merciful–" she grips him again and slides down, " _ looord!"  _

Angelique pushes him onto his back and rips off the duvet, exposing the debaucherous deed she's performing. They both look and groan. The view is lewd, and the sounds are obscene. 

"You have a lovely cock, Aziraphale."

"Goodness," Aziraphale throws his head back and concentrates on not coming right then and there. If she's going to say things like that then, this is going to be rather quick.

She crushes her mouth to his and nips at his bottom lip, just as she swipes her thumb over his sensitive head. Aziraphale cries out and grips the sheets while Angelique takes advantage of his open mouth. At some point, he feels her shift her weight. Angelique straddles his thighs. She's still fully clothed, which makes Aziraphale feel deliciously exposed. She pumps away and increases her speed, then she grins wolfishly, and Aziraphale doesn't get a chance to ask what the blazes she's up to because her other hand goes down to cup his balls.

"Oh,  _ fuck _ !" Aziraphale shouts. He thinks his eyes flip all the way around when she kneads and tugs at the same time. He makes the mistake of cracking one eye open and sees he's dripping excessively. She changes course when his breathing turns even more shallow and begins to rub circles over his dribbling tip. "Fuck-fuck-fuck!"

Aziraphale's whole body tenses and he arches off the bed, coming with a shout and tearing a hole in the sheet clutched in his hand.

"See?" Angelique breathes out, still holding his spent cock, "better morning, isn't it?"

Aziraphale is not sure whether he's shaking or nodding his head, maybe both, as he croaks out a, "quite."

The little fiend leans down and kisses him delicately, like she hadn't just ruthlessly wanked his brains out. "Okay," she coos and rips herself away to stand. He frowns at her sudden departure, and she winks. "Let's wash up, and then you can make me breakfast."

"I said I was your guardian, not your kitchen maid."

A fire blazes in her eyes and then she brings up a filthy hand to her mouth and sucks on a sticky finger. Aziraphale's jaw drops, and he can feel his brow twitch when she releases it with an indecent  _ pop _ . 

"Hard-boiled or scrambled eggs?" The angel asks dutifully.


	24. Three I know's

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Azeran and Intergalacticsupertwink for the hard beta work you've helped me with!
> 
> Thank you to everyone still reading! I'll try to have some art for the next chapter!

A few towns over, an angel and a nephilim sit at a quaint Italian restaurant for three reasons. One, to make a discreet phone call to a certain Witch in Tadfield. Two, to finally drink some decent wine. And three to go on a first official date.

Well, Aziraphale hopes it's a date. At least, he  _ thinks _ Angelique knows it's a date, but since Aziraphale has never really taken anyone on a romantic outing before, he's not sure he's got the point across yet. After all, he did lead with phoning Anathema to help locate Angelique's parents. 

The angel worries at his lip while he watches Angelique push her food around her plate. She's barely eaten, and she seems anxious. Logically, he knows it's because Anathema has yet to call them back. Nevertheless, he can't help but wonder if it also has something to do with this new thing between them. Maybe she has regrets. Maybe things are moving too fast. It's only been just over a month since she was with Crowley. Aziraphale wouldn't blame her for reconsidering her choice to attach herself to him in this way. 

Ever since the coma, Aziraphale has had some trouble sensing her love. It briefly flares up in moments, usually when she's caught off guard by something Aziraphale does or when she gazes at him when she thinks he's not looking, but then it grows cold again. He's not sure if it's because of the damage her soul endured from the attack, or if heartbreak is to blame. It could be as horrific and straightforward as her love for Aziraphale is waning with time. 

"Angelique?" Aziraphale calls to her while mostly staring at his plate, "how are you feeling?" 

"Hmm? Oh, uh, alright, I guess," she shrugs and then looks up at him. Her brow creases with concern. "Are you okay?"

Aziraphale clears his throat and forces himself to look her in the eye. "I know things have been difficult, to say the least, but I do hope that, uh," he can't. He can't look at her and talk about his feelings at the same time. "What I mean to say is that..."

_ I said I loved you and you haven't said it back, and I can't sense your love the way I used to, and I just want to know what this thing between us is now. _

"Nevermind," Aziraphale sighs. It's probably for the best that he doesn’t get a straight answer. 

A warm hand lays atop his and Aziraphale glances across the table. He sighs with relief when Angelique's love reaches for him. It's a tentative thing, not like how it used to be, but it's strong and unwavering. 

"Tell me what's on your mind," she says with an encouraging smile. “And that’s not a request, by the way."

Aziraphale chuckles. "It didn't sound like one." 

She gives him a withering but playful look. "Don’t deflect. Tell me. You can tell me anything."

Her eyes, goodness, they pierce through him, and an urge to just spill his heart out is overwhelming. "This is a date," he blurts out. The words hit his ears, and he's horrified beyond belief. Angelique seems shocked, and he feels the need to take his ridiculous statement back or amend it or–

"I already thought it was, but thank you for clarifying," Angelique grins, and her love hits him square in the chest. Then, abruptly, it retreats, and her smile falters. 

"It's bad timing, I know, I just," Aziraphale wants to bang his head against the table repeatedly.

"It's perfect timing," Angelique reassures him. She ducks her head but squeezes his hand. "To be quite honest, and I know this might sound awful, I've had feelings for you for a bit." She shakes her head and scoffs, "even when I was with, when I..."

"I know."

Angelique blinks a few times before she gives him a questioning look. "You know? You know what?"

_ Oh, bother. This is going to be awkward, but I've stepped in it now.  _ "I know that you had feelings for me."

Angelique takes her hand back, with good reason, but it still turns Aziraphale's stomach cold. "H-how did you know? Did Crowley tell you?"

Well, that gives Aziraphale pause. "Crowley?" He shakes his head. "No, my dear, Crowley never said anything. Why on Earth would he have? It's not like you told him..." Aziraphale suddenly seems unsure and quite alarmed. " _ Did _ you tell him?"

Angelique's eyes narrow. "How did you know then?" She completely avoids his question, but he's trying to bypass hers as well, so it's only fair.

He sighs. "Angels can sense love."

Slowly, Angelique's eyes grow wide with horror, and her cheeks turn pink. "Tell me you're bloody joking."

"Afraid not." Aziraphale decides to take charge of the conversation before she starts asking more questions he'd rather not answer. Ever. "Anyway, for a while, I couldn't be sure whether it was platonic or not. But, well, although I might choose to blind myself to certain truths, I'm not a complete idiot." He chuckles with self-depreciation. "From the first moment we met, your love felt very strong, and it only grew stronger with time, for, ah, the...  _ both _ of us. It's why I think your attacker might be an angel actually."

Thankfully, this information steers things in another direction. "An angel is trying to kill me?" She seems shocked—poor, naive girl.

"I can't be positive. I have no idea what happens to the offspring of angels and demons. My initial thought is that the progeny would have the qualities of their sire. You don't appear to have any demonic qualities and," and shit he has to go back to the other topic, "demons don't seem to emit any loving energy. Again, I can't be certain if that is just some kind of demonic interference or, or..."

"If demons can love at all?" Angelique graciously provides, a sad look on her face. "Oh, Aziraphale," she shakes her head slowly and smiles wistfully, "When Crowley first told–" she stops short and abruptly changes course, "maybe it's like my defences?" Angelique offers hopefully. "You know, you need my permission to get through my barriers because of what I am."

"...Oh, my God," Aziraphale breathes. The theory had never occurred to him before. But why would Crowley explicitly hide his love for Aziraphale?  _ Because I've been a complete git about this whole affair, that's why.  _ This theory can be tested, however. "Angelique."

"Yes?"

"Are you trying to hide your feelings from me."

She goes white as a sheet. "I-I...but you know how I feel already."

"It hasn't been the same since the accident," he says politely, even though he means "since the heartbreak."

"I see." She chews on her lip and looks down at her plate. "Yes," she utters softly, "Yes, I think I've been a bit more on  _ guard _ , I suppose."

"Would you allow me to...? You don't have to, I just–"

"How?" Angelique snaps her gaze to his. "How do I control it?"

It occurs to Aziraphale that his little hybrid friend has no idea what her capabilities are. A slow grin breaks across his face. "Oh dear, I dare say, you have some things to learn."

Angelique's melancholy disappears entirely for the moment, and Aziraphale knows precisely what she's about to say before she even asks.

"Can I do miracles?" she whispers conspiratorially. 

Aziraphale leans forward and makes a show of looking around suspiciously. "Only one way to find out," he whispers back mischievously.

Angelique tries to swallow down a squeal as she bounces in her seat.

"Mr Fell," a server interrupts, "there's someone on the line for you."

Aziraphale nods and looks at Angelique kindly. "Shall we take the call together?"

Angelique bites at her lip. "Yeah, alright. It'd be nice to hear a familiar voice." She doesn't sound too convinced.

The angel and nephilim leave their table and head to the phone waiting for them at the bar. Aziraphale hopes that Anathema will be able to locate Angelique's parents. Her birthday is quickly approaching, and wouldn't some good news be the best gift of all? No matter what, Aziraphale is determined to bring her a little joy on her special day. 

For now, all he can do is plan a few more dates. He's got a few ideas, and he thinks he should plan them soon because Angelique doesn't seem to fancy taking things slow. And, well, everyone knows how  _ that _ makes Aziraphale feel. 

But Angelique, whether she survives this trial or not, will have a short life. It will be longer than most humans, but eventually, she will pass on like any mortal of this world. So there is no time to waste.

Unless... Aziraphale's wheels start to turn in his head. There is a flash of recollection that knocks on the door of his mind. He'll have to think about it later because–

"Hello, Anathema?"

"WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU ALL BEEN?!"

"Ah, well, yes, about that..."

  
  
  



	25. Three Miracles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, my pmdd hit me full force yesterday. I'm feeling like garbage. It's why there is no art AGAIN. Hopefully, the sauciness of this chapter will make up for the lack of art! 
> 
> I laid in bed and read all day to distract myself from my misery. It worked. 
> 
> I'm reading an original work by a good friend on Wattpad. Although they are rewriting the story, I recommend giving it a read! Here is the link: [Lament of the Traitor King](https://www.wattpad.com/story/83277434-lament-of-the-traitor-king-complete)  
> Thank you Azerana and Intergalacticsupertwink for the beta and Brit-picking work!
> 
> WARNING: NSFW content ahead. LIME!

Angelique paces back and forth in the living area, then she halts abruptly and turns to the fireplace. Aziraphale can see her squinting at the logs as she snaps her fingers. Nothing happens. "It didn't work."

Aziraphale suppresses the urge to laugh. He stands close to Angelique, his hands frozen above her shoulders behind her, not sure if he's allowed to touch. Even after everything, something in him can’t believe this loving, beautiful soul wants him.

"It doesn't work like that," he explains softly. He is about to drop his hands to his sides when she willingly leans her back against him. Aziraphale allows himself to touch and knead her tense shoulders.

She melts into him with a huff. "How  _ does _ it work then?"

The angel chuckles despite the evident pout in Angelique's voice. "To be quite honest, I'm not certain. You're a special case. Depending on the kind of miracle you wish to accomplish, the level of energy needed fluctuates."

"How much energy do you need to light a fire?"

"For me? Not much at all. I could draw from myself. More abundant miracles sometimes require drawing from the Heavenly Host."

"What about demons," she asks quietly. "For big miracles, where do they draw from if they're not angels?"

"The Legions of Hell."

"But you guys aren't part of Heaven and Hell anymore..."

"It's a collective energy. It's impossible to prevent any angels or demons from using it as much as upper management tries to."

Angelique turns in Aziraphale's arms and looks up at him through her dark lashes. She's breathtaking. "Any theories on how I might control this thing?"

"Well," Aziraphale sighs and thinks, "your optimism and imagination shape your reality. How did you win the lotto? That's no small miracle, so you must have done something different."

Angelique takes a moment to think. "I was very angry with my parents. I stormed out of the house, bought my ticket, went home, then I," she suddenly gasps, "I prayed!"

Aziraphale's eyebrows skyrocket. Perhaps she is part angel after all. "You had faith."

"Yes," she says excitedly, grabs onto his shirt and hops with excitement, "did I draw from the Heavenly Host?! Oh! Does that mean I'm part angel?!"

"Perhaps. The information certainly points to that." Aziraphale smiles. "Your name is no accident, it appears."

"Ha!" Angelique glows with happiness and pulls Aziraphale down for a long, lingering kiss. She ends it too soon and gasps. "Oh, shit, we're related!"

"We are  _ not _ ," Aziraphale retorts immediately, aghast. 

"Aren't we?" She starts to laugh as Aziraphale's frown deepens. "We  _ are _ !"

"No! It's not like that at all." Except it  _ sort of  _ is. "Angels are not born in the way you understand. We are all God's creatures, so, if  _ we _ are related by that standard, then you almost burned uncle log over there."

Angelique giggles. "It obviously disturbs you that we're related, so I'll drop it."

"I am not  _ disturbed _ . Nothing to be disturbed about," he exclaims indignantly. "The only way we can be related is if I sired your ancestor and I can assure you, I have not–” He catches the mischievous glint in her eye. "Insufferable," he mutters, not able to hold back a smirk or the fire that ignites in his corporation's blood. "You do so enjoy teasing me," he murmurs into the corner of her mouth.

Angelique's hands begin to wander, slowly roaming down his chest, over his belly, and onto his belt. She pants a bit before their lips meet. They kiss for a long while, deep, tender, and full of want. 

Angelique leans away to speak. "You keep kissing me like that and uncle log won't be the only one to go up in flames."

The angel scoffs and takes that as an invitation to kiss her some more. He grows warmer by the second, and he's starting to feel desperate to rip their clothes. Aziraphale lands on the sofa behind him and brings Angelique into his lap, straddling his thighs. She's already undoing the buttons on his shirt when he smells smoke and hears a small crackling sound. 

The lovers freeze and slowly bring their attention to the fireplace where a tiny flame fights its way through the tinder. Alas, the building smoke snuffs it out. 

Angelique whips her wide-eyed gaze to Aziraphale. "Did you do that?"

Aziraphale shakes his head and gives her a bewildered smile. 

The nephilim's hands shoot to her mouth. "Oh, my God! Oh, my God! Okay-okay-okay!" She shakes her hands and wiggles in his lap. "What else can I try? I'm hot! How about some air?!" She closes her eyes and brings her hands together in prayer, which Aziraphale pries apart.

"Not wise, that."

"Right! Okay, well, a window needs to open for a breeze, and I'm sure you must have left one open, you're so forgetful."

"I did  _ not _ ! Am  _ not _ ," he protests but then a breeze blows through. Aziraphale's jaw drops. "I know I didn't open any windows–"

"No! But I  _ believed _ you did! That's the trick!" Angelique's head whips side to side, looking for something else to try, then she looks down at Aziraphale and smirks. "I bet you aren't wearing any pants."

"As if I would  _ ever _ – _ "  _ Aziraphale gasps at the sudden lack of fabric. His half-hard cock rubs against the harsh denim of his trousers, and he lets out a soft moan. "You've proven your point."

Angelique squeals with delight and begins to kiss again. Things get heated quickly, but every time Angelique's hands get too close to his belt, Aziraphale guides them away. She soon notices and recoils. "What's wrong?" She asks, full of concern.

Aziraphale catches his breath and shakes his head that's fuzzy with lust. "Nothing." The look in her eye demands his confession. "It's just," he swallows, "we haven't spoken about, well, us. What we're doing."

Angelique seems confused, and her shoulders droop. "You know how I feel. I," she closes her eyes hard and forces out her next words, "I want you in any way that you'll have me." Her eyes shoot open. "Except platonic friendship, that is, I think it's safe to say that we've crossed that line, and I don't care to go back."

Aziraphale laughs at her blunt honesty. "All right," he chuckles, but it trails off. He looks down at her hands and nearly whispers. "What about Crowley?"

Angelique is quiet for so long that Aziraphale finally looks up, fearing the worst. It's clear she's trying to mask her hurt. "Will you leave me," she asks tentatively, "if he comes back?"

Aziraphale grasps her arms and pulls her into his embrace. "No," he stops himself, surprised at how quick he answered without thinking it through first. He briefly wonders how he'd react if Crowley were to track them down. The truth is out at last. ‘ _ My dearest.’  _ If Crowley reached out again, how could Aziraphale reject him now, after everything? Then, remembering the stunt the demon pulled makes the angel's chest hurt. "He can wait a bit longer," Aziraphale mutters angrily. 

Angelique is the one in terrible danger. Angelique is the one with a ticking clock hanging over her head.

And anyway, Crowley was probably intent on sleeping a century away, waiting out for the inevitable to happen, and that just makes Aziraphale even angrier. That Crowley would let Aziraphale grieve alone would be a double betrayal.

Then a thought occurs to the angel. What if Crowley comes back and Angelique has had a change of heart? "Would you?" He asks before he knows the words are out of his mouth, "leave...  _ me _ , that is."

Again, Angelique stays silent for such a long time that Aziraphale flies into a babbling tirade. "I wouldn't blame you if you did. I know you still love him very much. I just want you to be happy. I wouldn't leave you if you still wanted me–"

"Good," she whispers harshly near his ear. "I want you to remember this. You won't leave me as long as I still want you. Remember that."

Aziraphale nods quickly. "I will," he whispers back.

Angelique pulls back, unshed tears in her eyes that make Aziraphale's heart ache. "I'm ready," she says gravely, full of meaning, "so, you can set the pace however you like." Angelique gives him a small smile but then looks a bit stricken. "I wouldn't go at the same pace you're on with Crowley though. I am mortal, you know," she jokes and laughs but Aziraphale does not reciprocate. Angelique's expression grows worried almost immediately at the painful look that Aziraphale forgets to hide. 

"I know," the angel replies hoarsely, a lump in his throat threatening to close off his airways.

"Oh, Aziraphale," she whispers and cups his face in her hands. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. Let's not think about any of that, please." She trails sweet kisses all over his face. "Listen, if it ever becomes too much to bear, please just," she has to compose herself before she opens her mouth again to speak, but her words fail her anyway.

"As long as you want me, I'll stay," he reiterates.

"Yes, but–" she chokes on her words again.

"I can promise you–”

"Don't promise."

Aziraphale ignores her. "Upon my honour, I would never leave you willingly without saying a proper goodbye. I don't condone what Crowley did, but I do hope you can forgive him in time." Says the angel who will throttle the demon the next time he sees him.

Angelique nods and quickly wipes at her eyes before the tears can fall. "I already have. And thank you."

They hold each other until they slowly start to rock and writhe. And then they're kissing again. If things seemed desperate before, Aziraphale doesn't know what to call this now. Breath shallow, Angelique begins to roll her hips with purpose, trying to get as much friction as she can. It almost drives the angel mad with desire. He aches and the little relief the hardness in his trousers gets only serves to make him want more.

Without looking, with their lips still locked, Aziraphale digs his fingers into the hem of Angelique's trousers and tugs, requesting permission. She gives a pointed thrust, and that's all the invitation he needs to unfasten the zip. The button goes next. Instead of letting Angelique free to remove her clothes, his hands sneak under her shirt. Her skin is so warm and soft, and all he can think about now is tasing her. Everywhere. 

He can feel goose-pimples rise on her skin as he grazes upward. The tips of his fingers reach her breasts, and she immediately gasps and whines into his mouth. Aziraphale's blood ignites at the needy sounds she makes, and he wants to hear more, so he traces her nipples with his thumbs. Her response is to thrust harder on his aching erection. It's painful but so good. This time he is the one who moans. In a flash, Angelique pulls her shirt over her head and tosses it aside.

"Good lord, woman," Aziraphale rasps as he admires the view. "You are sumptuous."

She laughs aloud. "Of course you'd use that word, you glutton."

Her teasing is cut short when Aziraphale leans forward and drags his tongue over the puckered flesh of her breast. Her hands shoot to his hair, hanging on for dear life as she pants and moans.

God, he wants her. And he can have her. She's given him permission.

Aziraphale sends one of his hands to her clothed groin and finds the thin fabric of her pants is warm and damp, and he can smell her arousal. "Fuck."

Angelique does not laugh this time.

He has no idea what to do. It's like he's staring at an all you can buffet and not knowing what to eat first. 

Eat. That's an idea.

"I want to taste you," he says before he loses his nerve.

"Oh, fucking hell,  _ yes _ , please."

In a movement he thought would be more fluid and suave, Aziraphale sits his meal on the sofa and kneels before her. Angelique lifts her arse while they both pull on the infernal trousers. He forgot the shoes, so the clothes get stuck at her ankles.

"Blast–" the angel snaps and leaves Angelique naked from the hips down, gasping.

Finally.

And, oh, he has to sit back on his haunches and catch his breath because the view is exquisite. When he looks up at Angelique's face, she flushes, her eyes are half-lidded and clouded with lust, and the best part is that he can feel her love caressing him. 

Aziraphale has to mentally screech to a stop and thinks about how this will go because he is very close to snapping his own clothes away and just taking her right here and now. 

_ No _ .

He doesn't want that. Well, he does, but not like this. This is his first-ever committed, romantic relationship, and he wants to do things right. True, there is no time for how long he wishes to court this lovely creature. Still, Angelique deserves to be courted and romanced. She deserves to have a happy and beautiful day, and flowers, and chocolates, and champagne.  _ And you know what? So, do I. _

That angelic iron will of his holds onto that desire as he dips his head and kisses her bare thighs. She smells downright divine, and his mouth can't help but water with anticipation. 

Angelique squirms and complains about how he's teasing her. He doesn't torture her for long. In fact, pretty quickly he's pulling her hips toward him, then spreads her legs wide. He breathes there, knowing she can feel his warm breath on her if her whimpering is anything to go by.

Aziraphale's tongue finally darts out, and he gets his first taste. His willpower can only do so much in the face of such decadence. Soon he's laving up through her folds, and thanking every erotic book he's ever read written by women because Angelique cries out his name and that  _ does _ something to him. He moans into her. Angelique's legs have climbed to his shoulders, her hands tugging hard on his curls. 

She wraps her legs around his neck, crying out senseless babble, trying to pull and push him away at the same time. When she cries for more, Aziraphale hooks his hands under her knees and pushes her legs back, leaving her completely open to him. 

And now she's full-on screaming with pleasure, yelling his name in between oaths. Her thrashing slows, she tenses and goes limp. Aziraphale doesn't stop. He slows his pace but continues his feast, bringing her down gradually until she's ready for more.

If Angelique thinks he's going to stop anytime soon, she's sorely mistaken. Aziraphale has been starving for centuries, even longer, and he intends to have his fill.

Eventually, she begs him to stop. She goes to take care of him as well but finds him already spent, and Aziraphale doesn't care to be embarrassed about it because she looks so pleased, and her love wraps around him tightly and possessively. He feels so loved and wanted, he could cry.

While in bed later, with his lover's breath tickling his neck as she sleeps, Aziraphale makes a mental list of things he's going to lavish Angelique with for the next couple of weeks. Then, when she's adequately romanced, indulged, and sated in every other way, he's going to carry her to  _ their _ room, lay her out on  _ their _ bed, and he's going to make love to her–soppy, romantic, tender, sweet love.

_ It will be perfect.  _


	26. Three I Love You's

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally got some art done. Not the best but I did TRY my best. lol
> 
> Thank you Azeran and Intergalacticsupertwink for the beta work!

Despite the doom and gloom of their situation, Aziraphale feels like he's flying. His heart is full, his brain is mush, and his cock seems to be the only part of him thinking straight these days. No pun intended. To say that Aziraphale is whipped is like saying the Pope is a religious hobbyist. The angel might as well have been put under a witch’s spell. Love is quite literally in the air everywhere the angel goes. Anyone within a three-meter radius of the ethereal being ends up with more money in their purse, candy in their pockets, or flowers in their hair. One evening, Angelique had asked him to turn off his bedside lamp only for Aziraphale to find out that  _ he _ was the light source in the room rather, his halo was.

Right now Aziraphale hums a merry tune while he tosses his perfectly sauteed spinach and mushrooms into his perfect egg batter to make a perfect omelette, for the absolutely perfect creature still sleeping soundly in their shared bed.

This feeling, this lightness, this happy daze is not new to him. He's been in love for millennia. Aziraphale knows he's undeniably besotted with Angelique. No question about it anymore. What is new, however, is the sense of freedom that unburdens his heart. Loving Crowley has been downright Hell compared to this. Of course, Aziraphale now knows he'd been a fool for too long and that loving Crowley doesn't have to be painful.

And that's the thing. A horrible realisation that Aziraphale absolutely refuses to think about right now is the knowledge that he has unintentionally and regretfully associated loving Crowley with suffering. And who willingly wants to suffer?

Loving Crowley meant fearing the wrath of Heaven and Hell, meant yearning for someone and something he thought he could never have. When the time finally came to allow himself something more with the love of his life, all the red tape, all the stops were gone, but what was left was fear. 

Certainly an unfortunate side-effect of the immense influence of Heaven, but now...

Loving this woman has changed everything. Angelique has none of that history with him, no attachments to worry over, and no eggshells to walk on. Being allowed to love like this has given Aziraphale a whole new perspective on pretty much everything, even his relationship with Crowley. The angel feels certain, so confident, that he and Crowley will finally find their way to something like this. That certainty gives him real hope with no nasty feelings of fear or sorrow attached to it. 

Yes, with some work on both their parts, he and Crowley could be happy together.

But right now? Aziraphale is metaphorically and literally shining with happiness because today is  _ the _ day. He's got the day all planned out with romantic gestures, gifts, and mutual indulgences because tonight, he has every intention of getting his rocks off by shagging his  _ sweetheart _ properly senseless. 

Everything is going to be perfect.

  
  


* * *

Aziraphale's optimism and general euphoric energy is rewarded with everything going exactly as intended. The angel receives beaming smiles, adorable blushes, sweet kisses, and sensuous touches for his valiant efforts in wooing the beauty beside him.

They've picnicked and strolled leisurely by the shore. The sun is setting, and the sky is a wondrous blend of orange, pink and purple. Aziraphale is overwhelmed with yearning as he watches Angelique's smiling profile while she looks out toward the sea. It's been almost two weeks of touching, kissing, and bringing each other off in an array of imaginative means. He's fit to burst. All he wants right now is to lay Angelique down on the damp ground and make love to her right there.

She catches him staring and smirks. "Got something on my face?"

The angel smiles back and nods. "Mhm." He pulls her close and smoothes an errant lock down. "Beauty."

Angelique flushes prettily. "Not so bad yourself, you know?"

He rests his hands on her waist and arches a brow. "What a compliment," he deadpans.

Angelique laughs and then shakes her head. "I know I haven't been very good with telling you how I feel about you. I don't, erm, usually hold back." Her smile fades, and she suddenly looks so vulnerable and apprehensive.

Aziraphale nods. He understands. He tells himself it's normal for someone to be cautious with their heart after it's been broken. Still, it does hurt when he lets it. 

"Trust is earned, I know," he murmurs and pulls her even closer.

"Oh, God," Angelique bemoans and covers her face with her hands. "I do trust you, Aziraphale, and I hate that you don't think I do."

"I sense your feelings for me. You don't have to say anything to try and prove it."

"No," Angelique tilts her head up, a look of sharp determination lights her eyes. "Okay, I'm just going to say it."

"Angelique–"

"I love you," she breathes, and Aziraphale's heart swells to a painful degree in his chest. Now that she's said it aloud, it appears to open a floodgate. "I'm terribly in love with you."

Aziraphale can feel her heart hammering against him. "Oh, darling," he gasps, overwhelmed with not just his emotions but hers as well. "I don't think there are words in existence to describe how madly in love with you I am."

Lord, when did it get so easy to say such things aloud? He doesn't even feel a smidge guilty about it. Who is this angel?

Angelique gives him a watery grin. "You're beautiful," she goes on, "I love everything about you."

Beautiful. No one has ever used that word for him. Handsome? Occasionally. Lovely? A few times. 

Beautiful. That finally drives him forward to kiss those full lips that are uttering such delightful things. He tries to get closer but can't. They're already as close as they can be with clothes still on. One hand is fisted in her short, dark tresses, one arm wrapped around her waist.

The passionate kiss turns sloppy when Aziraphale feels Angelique thrusting lightly against him. When she growls, he pulls away enough to hiss through gritted teeth. He wants her. He wants her now. But Aziraphale is nothing if not patient.  _ The plan. Stick to the plan, and it will be so much better. _

"Let's go home," he murmurs in between kisses. He didn't mean to say " _ home" _ , but it feels right and he finds Angelique smiling and nodding.

* * *

They stumble through the door, pawing at each other and snogging. Angelique starts to undo his belt. He snatches her wrist away and kisses it.

"I have something for you," he says, breathless. 

"I don't like how put together you sound. It's not fair," she pouts.

Aziraphale chuckles and pulls her to the sofa where a box lays wrapped in his distinct tartan pattern and a white bow. 

Angelique rushes to the gift and seems about to tear into the paper when she suddenly hesitates and begins to gently undo the tape and slide the box out carefully. Aziraphale sniggers and shakes his head, but he waits on bated breath when she finally opens the box and moves the tissues paper aside.

She gasps as she pulls out a crimson dress. "Oh," she breathes reverently as she holds it against herself and looks at how perfectly it will fit. 

"I know you miss your lovely dresses," he feels the need to explain. "There are shoes to match as well..."

Satin, with a low V neck and flowing short skirt, it's a dress for a dancer. He can already see her twirling and moving in a ballroom. Perfect. 

Angelique looks up at him with a beatific smile. "It's beautiful." She gingerly places the dress back in the box, then turns and nearly tackles him. "You're too good to me." She latches onto his neck, kisses then bites.

"Impossible," he replies hoarsely.

"Upstairs. Now. Please."

Aziraphale leans back and cups her face. "Dinner first.

"No," Angelique lets out like it's the most terrible news, "I know what this is all about. You don't have to work so hard! Let's just  _ do _ it already!"

The angel can't help but laugh. "It's not about the end goal, you know." She arches a brow. "Well, obviously it is, somewhat. But," he gives her an encouraging shake, "it's about romance." Aziraphale gives her a small pout of his own. "I've never had a proper romance before. I've always imagined one. Thought about roses and–bugger!"

Angelique startles at the sudden and fierce oath. "What?!"

"I forgot the flowers."

"It's okay!"

"Oh, no, and the champagne!" He sounds really distressed now.

Angelique groans. "Fine," she gives in with a huff. She tiptoes to give him a chaste kiss on the nose. "Go get it. I take it I'm supposed to get dressed for this momentous occasion?" She thumbs behind her at the dress with a smirk.

Aziraphale bites down on his lip just picturing her greeting him in the gown. "Only if you like."

"God, your face. Alright." She smiles coyly and begins to push him toward the door. "The faster you get out of here, the faster we'll get to dessert if you catch my meaning."

"Yes, yes, of course," he replies with a dazed smile of his own. "Won't be long." He kisses her long and hard. "Couldn't possibly stay away for long. Lord, you're lovely–"

"Out!"

"Right!" Aziraphale lets out a strange giggle and dashes out the door.    
  


* * *

The angel doesn't realise he's humming while he plucks a bottle of the most expensive champagne he can find at the local shop. It will probably be dismal, but a minor miracle will do the trick. And if he uses another small miracle to liven up the slightly drooping roses, no one will notice. 

"My!" The woman at the check out exclaims. "Look at the bloom! I've never seen such vibrant roses before!" 

All right, so  _ one _ person noticed. 

"Bet there's a lucky fellow waiting for you at home, eh?"

The audacity of this woman! But nothing can shake his glorious mood now. "It is I who is the lucky one, madam. And she is waiting quite impatiently, so if you please–"

" _She_ , huh?" The lady cocks a brow and gives him a long once over. " _Right_. Here you go." She gives him his change and winks.

He can't even reprimand her ignorance. "Thank you, my dear lady." 

With flowers in one hand and a bottle of bubbly in the other, Aziraphale whistles a tune loudly and practically skips out of the store. He turns in the direction of the cottage and starts–

"Those for me, angel? You shouldn't have."

Aziraphale stops dead in his tracks at the sound of that oh-so-familiar drawling voice coming from behind him. "Crowley."

What is that old proverb? Man plans, God laughs. She must be in stitches right now.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OHHHH SHIIIIIT. A good moment for him to show up, huh? XD


	27. Three Surprises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOY THERE! ANGST AHEAD!
> 
> Thank you Azeran and Intergalacticsupertwink for beta-ing and Brit-picking!

"Hullo, Aziraphale..."

The first feeling that shoots through the angel is surprise, and then delight, as it usually does when Crowley makes an appearance. In fact, Aziraphale's mouth opens into a wide smile just as the rest of his corporation spins around only to gasp at the sight before him.

Surprise and delight quickly turn to shock and concern though. Crowley looks  _ haggard _ . He's always been thin and lanky, but this is beyond that. Surely any human would be in a hospital in a state as his. His tight clothing actually hangs loosely. 

Aziraphale looks the demon over, his mind going a million kilometres a second. Crowley's hair is a bit longer and unkempt. He doesn't necessarily have a beard, but Aziraphale can't call it anything else.

The look of guilt on the demon's face is apparent, even with his shades on. Crowley is trying for a smug grin, but Aziraphale sees it for what it is, fear.

Which suddenly reminds the angel of the demon's transgressions and all of the hurt he has caused, which then morphs his concern and shock into Holy fury.

"Yeah, that was more the look I was expecting," Crowley mumbles.

" _ You... _ " Aziraphale grouses with his eyes closed hard, and nostrils flared.

"Yes."

"...c _ ad... _ "

"Yes."

"...dastardly devil of the  _ worst _ degree..."

"Wow."

"Do you have any idea..."

"I'm certain I don't."

"... what your cowardly escape nearly cost us? Angelique was nearly  _ destroyed _ . And I'm not referring to her broken heart, which by the way, brava on that account, Hell would be proud of you," Aziraphale seethes. "I mean, destroyed. As in, cease to exist altogether." His voice breaks because just thinking about a universe without her is too much to bear. "You–," Aziraphale cuts himself off when he catches Crowley's bottom lip quiver.

The angel takes a calming breath and then looks around. The woman from the shop practically has her face squashed up on the windowpane, staring at them while eating chips. 

With a long and exhausted sigh, Aziraphale motions for Crowley to follow him to a more secluded area behind a large set of trees. 

"So," Aziraphale says finally, "you got my messages."

Crowley clears his throat and scuffs the ground with his shoe. "Yeah."

"I was worried you wouldn't understand me, talking in code and whatnot."

Crowley manages an amused scoff. "Regular MI-six agent, you." He looks up at Aziraphale and immediately the smirk is gone. "Would it matter if I said I was sorry?" He says hoarsely.

"Yes, I believe it would. A great deal actually."

"I'm sorry, Aziraphale–"

"Oh, no-no. As you once said so  _ valiantly _ ,  _ I _ don't need your apology."

Crowley goes pale, and he shakes his head. "I just came to check that everything's alright." He nods at Aziraphale's hands. "Which I'm guessing it is."

Aziraphale looks down and immediately feels heat surge up his neck to the top of his head.  _ Brilliant. _ The flowers and champagne vanish. "You're not leaving again," he says sternly while staring at Crowley's chest because now he can't bear to look him in the face.

"I came to tell you that her family is safe."

At that, Aziraphale snaps his eyes to Crowley's.

The demon still looks shamefaced as he sways in place. "As soon as I heard your message, I located her parents and took them to one of my flats in Paris. It's under another name so whoever the bastard is won't find them. I've made sure of it."

Aziraphale nods as relief lightens his chest. "And the rest of her family? There was an uncle."

"All safe. I had Anathema ward everything and do her witchy things. Even I couldn't locate their auras, standing in the next room and everything."

"Oh, good," Aziraphale breathes, "Angelique's been so worried."

"I almost caught the fucker."

"What?!" Aziraphale takes a step forward only for Crowley to take a step back. 

"Yeah, but he escaped."

Aziraphale's heart constricts at the sight of Crowley recoiling from him, but he ignores it. "He. Angel or demon?"

"An angel, I'm almost positive. Didn't get a good look, but he got a bit sloppy." Crowley drags a hand through his hair.

"Any discerning features whatsoever? Any clues?"

The demon sighs and rubs the back of his neck. "His corporation was about my height, but he was broader. He was wearing a dark hooded cloak, but I saw a flash of white when he flew off. Had to be his wings. I'll find him," Crowley finishes gravely. 

"Not without help."

"Anathema is helping–"

"The assailant is an angel, Crowley. Anathema can't do much, and going against him alone is too dangerous."

Crowley throws up his hands. "Then what am I supposed to do? Just fuck off and do nothing?"

"Well, that was your plan to begin with, wasn’t it?" Aziraphale spits out.

Crowley stands a bit straighter. "I didn't know then, did I?!"

Aziraphale shakes his head in disappointment. "You think that excuses your absence? Your  _ abandonment?  _ You're coming back to the cottage with me, and you are going to apologise to Angelique–"

"Angel–"

"Don't you, ' _ angel' _ me, Anthony J. Crowley!" He warns. "You are going to give her the news about her parents yourself."

Crowley turns away and shoves his hands into his pockets. "I'll just be in your way, won't I?" The demon murmurs in response.

His words don't sound resentful or jealous. Crowley just seems sad and lonely, utterly pathetic, and Aziraphale wants to reach out and hold him like that day in the hospital. He aches to comfort his friend, his love. But Crowley doesn't respond well to affection or kind words when he feels like he doesn't deserve it. So, Aziraphale decides on tough love and to use his wicked tongue once again to get what he wants. And what the angel wants is for Crowley to stay, to make peace with Angelique, to be happy with her if need be as much as it would hurt to stand aside.

Aziraphale clings to the bastard within and licks his lips before he speaks. "I knew it. I've always known, but now you've proven it yourself. Heaven was right about one thing at least," he utters quietly but with disdain.

Crowley turns to face him, surprise and confusion written all over his face. "Know what? Right about what?"

The angel's spirit is fit to shatter, but he steels himself and turns his heart to ice. "That demons are incapable of love." 

Crowley's mouth drops open, and he staggers back with a hand to his chest like he's been shot. "What," he breathes softly. "How," he sobs, and his quivering lip makes it hard for him to speak, "how-how, could you say that? After," his other arm wraps around his middle, and he takes a steadying breath, "after everything. You know. You  _ have _ to know. You said angels could sense–"

"You left her without so much as a by your leave."

"Because I thought–!"

"And you left  _ me, _ " that comes out more broken than Aziraphale had intended and he can't stop the tears falling down his cheeks. "I've never felt an ounce, not a  _ smidgen _ of love from you."

Crowley sways and has to catch himself from falling by leaning on the tree behind him. "I don't understand. All this time..."

"Do you love her?"  _ Do you love me?  _ He wants to say. "She says you never told her you loved her. Did you  _ ever _ love her?"

Crowley's chest heaves as gasps for breath that he doesn't need. He nods and forces out his words. "Yes. Yes. I loved-love her. It wasn't supposed to happen, but it did."

Aziraphale has to turn away because although Aziraphale knows that Crowley loves him, or at least loved him once, knowing Crowley loves another  _ hurts _ . But how can he be jealous? How can he throw the first stone when he, himself, has fallen in love with the same woman. "If you love someone, you don't abandon them. If you love someone, you stay with them. Or at least-at least say a proper goodbye, a proper reason why. You say you still love her? Then prove it. If you want anything to do with me," he echoes Crowley's words before, "you'll at least say your sorry to her in person before you go." 

The angel can hear Crowley snivelling and trying to take long steadying breaths. "All right. Lead the way."

Aziraphale doesn't turn to look at him, and he just starts to walk in the direction of the cottage. It occurs to him that his plans for the evening will not come to pass, and may never. In fact, Crowley's presence could end everything between him and Angelique. But this is the right thing to do. The angel knows it, feels it. Whatever happens... well, he'll cross that bridge later.   
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EEeeep! How do you think Angelique will react?


	28. Three Gasps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Azeran and Intergalacticsupertwink for beta-ing and Brit-picking!

The closer they get to the cottage, the more it dawns on Aziraphale how awkward this meeting is going to be. In fact, as they reach the gate to the front lawn, his palms are already sweating something fierce. He tugs on his collar and clears his throat then turns to Crowley who is looking at his shoes, seemingly as nervous as he is. Giving him a once over he thinks maybe Crowley's appearance needs adjusting, if only for Angelique's sake.

"Crowley, I don't think you should go in looking like that. You look like Jonah when we pulled him out of the whale."

Crowley scoffs after he looks himself over. "I guess it has been a little while since I've freshened up." Crowley scratches his half-beard and then waves a hand over himself. Immediately his hair is done. His clothes are clean and pressed. The beard is gone. His nails are cut. But he still looks wretched. Aziraphale is sure that if he were to lift the demon's sunglasses, he would see dark circles surrounding Crowley's eyes.

He knows Crowley can't do anything about his gauntness. That can be fixed once he gets some energy in him. Since his corporation doesn't take in food, which Aziraphale notes to talk to Crowley about later, sleep is what the serpent needs, and a lot of it.

"How do I look now?" Crowley drawls dramatically as he juts out a hip, striking a languid pose. It's a farce, and they both know it. Which is why they aren't smiling.

Aziraphale looks him over again and swallows. He could reach out right now and touch Crowley. Take him in his arms and tell him how lovely he always looks, even with that revolting facial hair he just wiped clean. 

"Handsome, as always," he says instead, matter-of-factly. The angel does an about-face just as Crowley's mouth drops open in shock.

"Wait!"

Aziraphale freezes, hand on the gate latch. His heart thunders, and he wonders where all that hope and confidence from before went. Flying with the birds now, he supposes because he is starting to shake like a leaf.

"Angel," Crowley murmurs.

Aziraphale does not turn around. "Yes?"

"I heard all your messages," he replies cautiously, just above a whisper.

"Yes?" He knows what's coming and his mouth dries up in anticipation.

"The last one, you, uh, you signed off with–" he cuts himself off and clears his throat. "I might have misheard," he mutters sadly.

"I highly doubt that." 

"Then maybe you misspoke?" Crowley asks weakly.

Aziraphale turns and meets his eye. "I did not."

Well now. Looks like there is a bit of that courage left after all. Crowley gasps and he ignores it. There are more pressing matters to tend to. But isn't that always the case? How much longer can he use that excuse? 

"She's waiting for me," Aziraphale says softly, turning away again. "I should prepare her, so you don't give her a shock."

"Erm, yeah, yeah. Right," Crowley utters, bemused. "Oh," his tone changes and Aziraphale would give anything to look in his head right now to see what he's thinking. "I don't think–I can't–"

"You'll be fine," Aziraphale sighs and glances over his shoulder at his pallid mess of a friend. Then opens the small gate and they walk to the door.

It's over, Aziraphale thinks. This little dream he was living is over as soon as he opens that door. But then, it never could’ve lasted. The thought punches him in the gut, and he reacts as if that's exactly what's happened. 

"Aziraphale?" Crowley calls out with concern.

The angel takes deep, steadying breaths. "Ready?" He asks even though he's not. A solid but tentative weight lands on his shoulder, and he grows cold and hot at the same time, it's dizzying.

"I can go. I can go and-and wait–"

Aziraphale shrugs Crowley's hand off. "No," he rasps out. "It's what must be done–"

The front door flies open, revealing a jubilant Angelique looking absolutely stunning in her new dress. Her beaming smile lingers as Aziraphale watches her eyes shift and gaze behind him. Then the grin is gone. "Oh!" She staggers back, and Aziraphale reaches for her, but she only retreats further. The poor thing is white as a sheet and looking between the angel and demon as if they've come to claim her life. "Oh," she gasps again, her hands flying to her chest and stomach.

"Darling," Aziraphale calls to her and resists the urge to flinch at the pet name he just used in front of Crowley. "I was going to prepare you, but…” he looks behind him and finds Crowley wearing a deep frown, like he's trying not to cry. "Well," he turns back to his lover–or is that even the right word now? "I suppose we should all talk."

Angelique opens and closes her mouth several times, then closes her eyes, turns, and silently makes for the parlour.

The angel motions for the demon to enter. Crowley drags his feet but moves inside.

* * *

The three of them sit in the living area and stare at the floor. The angel and demon sit on opposite ends of the sofa while Angelique sits in the recliner facing them. Aziraphale finally looks up with an inhale through his nose.

"Should I go–?"

"NO!"

"NO!"

The ex-lovers exclaim in unison.

Nerves already shot to Hell, Aziraphale jumps in his seat which makes both his love interests look apologetic. 

Crowley lets out a small cough. "I should start."

"Yes, you should," Angelique says bitterly.

Pursing his lips, Crowley nods. "Um, you look," he stops and clears his throat. "I'm glad you're safe."

"You left me with Aziraphale. Of course I'm safe."

Aziraphale's heart could have swelled with pride had it not been for the underlying jabbing tone in the statement. 

Crowley winces but sits a bit straighter. "You should know first that your parents–your family is safe." Angelique gasps and is about to say something but Crowley continues. "I have a burner phone, just in case, so you can, erm, you can talk to your mum."

Angelique lets out a high-pitched sound of shock and sends a hand to her mouth.

Crowley fishes out the phone and then seems to contemplate on what to do next. He leans forward and places it gingerly on the table between them, then leans back in his seat again. He swallows audibly and gives Angelique a curt nod.

For a long moment, Angelique just stares at the mobile without so much as a blink. Then her eyes shift up to Crowley questioningly. "You've been keeping them safe? This whole time?"

Crowley squirms in his seat and looks away. "Yeah," he manages to say.

Aziraphale doesn't realise he's smiling kindly at Crowley until the demon glances in his direction, blushes, then looks at his lap. The angel feels the corners of his mouth droop again.

"I can just call? Right now?" she asks hopefully, but with a hint of disbelief.

Crowley nods again. "She's waiting for your call. Just dial star 1. It's the speed dial–"

Angelique lunges for the mobile and dials. Aziraphale can hear the soft ringing as Angelique presses the phone to her ear. It rings twice, and a woman's voice answers.

"Crowley?"

"Mum!"

"OH, THANK GOD!"

Angelique sobs and runs for the stairs. The sound of her quick steps and cries of relief disappear as soon as the door to her room slams shut.

The angel and demon sit in silence for a while until Aziraphale drums his fingers nervously on his knee. Aziraphale wants to keep clear of the conversation about what the hell they are going to do about loving the same woman, but Crowley beats him to it.

"Do you think we're both," the demon struggles, "erm,  _ drawn _ to her because of, you know, what she is? I mean, Angelique was pretty sure you hated her at first–"

"I never  _ hated _ her!" Aziraphale protests. Crowley tilts his head in a "cut the horseshit" sort of way, and Aziraphale has the decency to look guilty. "I may have had some trouble wrapping your...  _ relationship _ around my head. Being  _ friends _ with mortals is hard enough," he mutters. He thinks about their first meeting, how her love for him was already there, large and overwhelming. 

The angel scoffs. "Her love is hard to ignore. Her affection for me was strong from the start. I've wondered what on earth you could have told her about me before you introduced us." 

He chuckles and only realises what he's said aloud when he sees Crowley's pained expression. Immediately, he is filled with guilt and only wants to console his friend.

"Oh, Crowley," Aziraphale says with his hands in supplication, "she still loves you."

"Stop." It's a demand, not a plea.

Aziraphale lets the demon gain composure before he speaks again. "You did a good thing," he says softly.

Crowley scoffs and turns his head so Aziraphale cannot see his face.

"You did," Aziraphale goes on cautiously. He knows Crowley does not respond well to praise. When Crowley says nothing, Aziraphale sighs loudly. "You never told me about how you met."

Crowley snaps his head toward Aziraphale, eyebrows high over his glasses. "Uh, you know already."

"Yes, I know you met at the dance studio, but what made you go in there in the first place? What was that first night like?"

Crowley shakes his head, and his eyebrows pinch together as if he's wondering why on earth Azirphale would want to know. Then he looks to the ceiling, and they both listen to the muffled pacing above them.

"It was after the night at the Ritz.  _ That _ night. I don't know if you remember–"

"Of course, I do."

"I mean, I don't know if you remember that you asked me where I'd been a few days later. I told you I was just doing some thinking."

"Yes," Aziraphale replies quietly. He remembers wondering where Crowley had been. Why he hadn't called. Why he hadn't visited. Knowing it was his own fault. 

"Well," Crowley lets out a puff of air and rubs the back of his neck, "I walked. I walked for days."

Aziraphale's gut twists at the thought of Crowley walking aimlessly and alone after his stupid rejection after their victory dinner. 

"Eventually, I walked back home, but on my way back," a smirk pulls at his lips, "it was evening, and all the businesses were closed, save for one. I just felt  _ pulled _ toward it, you know?" A real smile blooms then. "I stopped in front of the studio window and saw people dancing, smiling, laughing. She was there. She was making them happy, and they did look  _ so _ happy." The smile fades a bit. "And I thought if those bumbling, overworked sods could find a bit of happiness there, that maybe I," Crowley clenches his fists on his lap, and he appears to have trouble swallowing. 

Looking at him makes Aziraphale want to edge closer to him and place a comforting hand on Crowley's before he makes himself bleed. 

"Anyway," his voice is low and grave, "before I knew it, I opened the door and walked inside. She looked at me and smiled, arms open wide, and said I could audit for free." He chuckles a bit. "I didn't know it meant she'd be pulling me all over the dance floor, but," he nods slowly, "It worked. For that little bit, I was ha–" he cuts himself off and pats at his trousers, "I had fun," he finally finishes uncomfortably. “That’s all it was supposed to be. Just fun. But, erm, things... changed.”

With the spell of the memory broken, they both look at each other awkwardly. Aziraphale cannot allow himself to take away Crowley's chance at happiness... again. Yet he promised Angelique he would not leave her.

"What should we do?" Aziraphale finally whispers.

Crowley shakes his head. "We find the arsehole, and we kill 'im." That is not what Aziraphale meant and he thinks Crowley knows that.

_ Well _ , Aziraphale thinks,  _ that's easier said than done. _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor, idiot demon. Is Crowley redeemed for any of you yet?


	29. Three Rounds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am apologizing in advance for any historical or mythological errors. I made some shit up here in this chapter, mixed with some Hebrew/Jewish legends/teachings. 
> 
> I had to rely on Wikipedia and some articles written by rabbis because I have no former education on any Hebrew legends or Jewish teachings other than what I learned being Catholic for half of my life. 
> 
> Just know that I mean no offence!! If there is anything offensive, please let me know and I will change whatever needs to be changed.

"You know," Crowley says as he gives Aziraphale a slow once over, "I didn't mention it before but," he grins wickedly, "what the fuck are you wearing, angel?"

Aziraphale looks down and sees his borrowed clothing from the owner of the cottage. The dress shirt is royal blue, darker than anything Crowley has ever seen him wear, and of course the infernal denim trousers. He must look like quite the sight. He sends Crowley a glare, and the demon immediately throws his hands up in surrender.

"What?! You look good. Suits you."

"Yes, yes. And snakes have legs," Aziraphale retorts with a huff.

"I mean it," Crowley says gravely, which makes Aziraphale stare at him, waiting for the other shoe to drop. "The, uh, rolled up sleeves," the demon continues with the beginnings of a blush, "nice touch."

Aziraphale's ears grow hot before a door is heard opening upstairs.

When Angelique finally comes down, she's showered, and changed into casual, comfortable clothing. It's a shame, Aziraphale thinks. He wishes he could have seen that dress on her one more time to appreciate the way it hung off her delicate form. But what does it matter now, anyway? It's not like he can continue with his plans. It's just not appropriate to even consider it. But he can't help the thoughts that have been lingering—imagining how this night should have gone before being so colossally cockblocked. 

He swears the demon's done it on purpose.

Aziraphale knows that's not the case, but he squirms in his seat as he takes in Angelique's small, soft, and vulnerable appearance. Her eyes are red-rimmed. Her hair is damp and tucked behind her ears. He damns Crowley internally. All Aziraphale wants to do is bound across the room and hold her, kiss her swollen eyes, the dripping water rolling down her neck. He envies that little drop so much.

Crowley stands, which prompts Aziraphale to end his ridiculous musings and stand as well. They wait patiently as Angelique finally steps onto the landing. She holds the burner phone between her hands and over her heart. She bites her lip and looks at Crowley with all the gratitude in the world. 

A heat of jealousy he didn't know he was capable of rises up Aziraphale's throat. How ridiculous. How utterly wrong for him to feel this way, and he knows it. Feeling completely ashamed of himself, Aziraphale bites the inside of his cheek and looks at his shoes. Things get worse for him when Angelique approaches Crowley and softly says–

"Thank you."

Crowley gives a stiff nod. "Least I can do," he mutters. 

They look at each other longingly, and Angelique starts and abruptly looks at Aziraphale like she just realised he was standing there. And that hurts. Hurts so much, he can't breathe. What's more, Angelique looks like she's asking him for permission for something or apologising and he can't stand it.

"I'll leave you two to talk," the angel finally says while already heading for the door. He ignores the weak protests from them and marches out into the dark outdoors.

The clouds are obscuring the stars, and the moon only shines through their parting. It's warm, but the breeze is cool. Aziraphale takes a deep breath and feels better almost immediately. He decides on a stroll around the premises, but when he catches a glimpse of Crowley and Angelique embracing, he thinks a stroll around the globe might be better. 

He settles for wandering around the town.

It's his third time passing a Catholic church and this time he stops to admire it. There's a flyer on the door flapping in the breeze with the date August 15th in big, bold letters.

"Huh. Angelique's birthday." Maybe it's an event that he can bring her to as part of her special day. 

It's right around the corner. So, he climbs the steps to the Church door. There's a whisper in his mind that he has no right to plan that far ahead especially plan anything with Angelique. He holds the flyer still and reads. 

**Feast of the Assumption**

His mind notes the time of the mass and feast after before it feels like it screeches to a complete standstill.

The feast celebrates the assumption of Mary.  _ Assumption. _ Rare, but it had been done before. He tries desperately to remember who else had been given that blessing when finally a memory flashes in his mind.

_ "I'm sorry, but who are you?" _

_ "I am the Metatron." _

Metatron had not always been God's representative. In fact, there had been a rumour... that the new Voice of God had a brother.

_ "You remember Sandalphon?" _

_ "Sodom and Gomorrah. How could I forget?" _

They had both been assumed into Heaven and made into angels! They'd been human! Or...

_ Nephilim! _

It make sense. Angel blood ran through their veins and assumption had been done several times throughout history. 

"Lord," Aziraphale practically prays as he falls to his knees on the church stones, "please let me be right."

He needs a book. A Hebrew Bible to be exact. An old and rare, and most accurate one at that. And he knew just where to find one. 

The bookshop.

Aziraphale's mind races. He needs to go to the bookshop, but surely the assassin is waiting for any of them to return. That could draw the fiend out and then...!

Aziraphale bursts through the front door of the cottage, making Crowley practically hit the ceiling. It appears he's been sleeping on the sofa, pillow and blanket now on the floor.

"Bloody Hell, angel!"

"Where's Angelique?"

"She went to bed. Why, what's happened?"

Aziraphale closes the door and rushes to the kitchen. "I think I have a plan. We might not have to kill anyone after all."

Crowley follows him and gapes as Aziraphale puts the kettle on, because, of course. "What are you on about?"

"There's an old Tanakh at the shop that might be the key to end all this madness. It has extra chapters written by a self-proclaimed 'Son of Anak.' I met him. He signed my copy. Mad as a hatter. I never paid the claim any mind because Anakites were said to be descendants of the Nephilim. And I knew that couldn't be true, but who knows now?!"

Crowley shakes his head, visibly trying to piece together everything Aziraphale has spewed out in a whirlwind of words. "What does that mean? How does it help?"

Aziraphale begins to pace. “There's a legend about Elijah and Enoch being assumed into Heaven and turned into angels. Metatron and Sandalphon. Again, I thought it was rubbish. Assumption is so rare, and humans being turned into angels? Laughable... at the time, anyway. The angels in Heaven did spread the gossip, but Gabriel put an end to it and said they were false claims. But no one thought to look deeper into the matter, and both Sandalphon and Metatron came seemingly out of nowhere and were placed high in the ranks for no apparent reason. In this particular bible, there is an eyewitness account of their assumption and transformation. What if the Son of Anak wasn't mad after all? What if Enoch and Elijah were sons of an angel? What if Gabriel lied?!"

"Shit." Crowley drags a hand down his face. "Well, we need that book."

"Yes." Aziraphale nods emphatically and turns his wide eyes to Crowley's. "We can blackmail the assassin into leaving Angelique alive and maybe even..."

"Make her immortal."

"Yes," Aziraphale breathes out. "That way, no one will ever know she was a Nephilim to begin with. The assailant will be in the clear, and so will she."

There's a long silence between them filled with unspoken desires and their consequences.

Crowley licks his lips. "Why would Gabriel lie?"

Aziraphale shrugs. He voices the unthinkable and yet the only thing that adds up. "Maybe he fathered them."

Crowley looks like he could laugh at the thought before he shakes his head, bemused. "Made some babies after the flood and then covered his tracks. Ha! What a hypocritical bastard!"

"Indeed."

Clapping his hands hard with purpose, Crowley sneers. "Let's get this bible!"

Aziraphale sighs and looks to the ceiling. "We should run it by Angelique first. And we need a damn good plan. Not something you nor I are very proficient with, I'm afraid."

Crowley groans. "Point taken."

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things start to come to a head with these three in the next chapter. ;)


	30. Three Wishes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the beta work, Azeran and Intergalacticsupertwink!
> 
> Thank you everyone who is still reading! I am seriously blown away by the number of comments this story has racked up so far! Thank you!!
> 
> ::rubs hands together:: Let's get these idiots TALKING!

Aziraphale thinks he's going to go insane. If they don't get out of this cottage soon, he's definitely going to admit himself to a mental institution. 

Someone help him, but he can't help thinking about Crowley and Angelique in some rather lewd situations and positions. And how can he not? They're there.  _ Always _ there. Two tempting devils walking around, circling him like he's some kind of laid out carcass and they a pair of vultures. He doesn't think they're doing it on purpose. Being so deliciously beautiful. He's torn. And he can see that they're torn as well. And as much as they try to focus on the more important things at hand, the longing looks never end, the blushes, the heat that radiates off of each of them, the tension in the air–well it's all suffocating. 

Aziraphale finds himself taking many walks to clear his head, but he's slowly losing the plot, and the strolls aren't really helping anymore.

It's been a handful of days. Not even a speck of dust in the grand scheme of time, and he can't hold it together. He knows he won't be able to hold it together for much longer. And what are they waiting for anyway? For  _ him _ to speak up? Don't they know him by now? What are they after? What do they want? Are they really as torn as he is or do they have an idea, a specific desire in mind? Because it’s starting to seem like they know exactly what they want. Maybe they have known right from the start of this mess.

Aziraphale can only do so much! He has continued to escort Angelique to her room each night and wants to see if she will invite him in, invite him into what he once considered their bed. Sometimes they just stand there in the doorway looking at each other, not knowing what to do. He can see Angelique struggling, worrying at her lip, closing her eyes with frustration until she finally bids him good night and graces him with a chaste kiss on the lips.

The angel does not blame her. It's not like it's anywhere near appropriate for him to sleep with her while Crowley sleeps on the couch right below. The demon refuses to take the spare room, always waiting to be chucked out the door at any moment.

It's torture. This whole cottage is just one big torture chamber, and Aziraphale is not sure who's suffering the most. Maybe it's Crowley. He's pretty sure it's Crowley, as much as Aziraphale wants to believe otherwise. As much as Aziraphale imagines it is he who is strapped to the rack, being pulled in two different directions at once.

The angel is really starting to feel the stretch. Everything is uncomfortable. His skin, his bones, hell, even his blood! He's on fire all the time. 

Aziraphale wants them both, of that he is sure. And what is he supposed to do with that? He reckons that the simple answer, being as  _ clever _ as he is, is for them to all end up in bed together! That would certainly solve the dilemma, wouldn't it? 

It's a simple math problem, is it not?

Aziraphale wants Crowley. Aziraphale wants Angelique. Crowley wants Angelique. Crowley wants Aziraphale. Angelique wants Aziraphale. Angelique wants Crowley.

The solution is simpler than one plus two equals three!

But who in their bloody right mind is going to be the one to suggest such a solution. Because it's certainly not going to be Aziraphale, the angel of the bunch!

Plus, he doesn't  _ really _ know the level of desire between the two people he loves. What if Crowley wants Angelique more than he wants Aziraphale? What if Angelique wants Crowley more than she wants Aziraphale? What if Aziraphale is the only one who wants them both? There's no way to tell unless someone speaks up and ends the tension that is boiling like a teapot. Someone is going to have to whistle soon or who knows what might happen?!

Angelique and Crowley have made up. Well, Angelique has forgiven Crowley. They are on good terms, if not cautious. The angel has never seen the demon so soft-spoken and meek. It breaks his heart to see Crowley so out of character, but he's proud of him at the same time for showing such remorse and willingness to right his wrongs.

Everyone is reluctant to proceed with the scheming, let alone act on them because that would mean leaving the cottage and into the unknown. There is so much more to explore if someone just dared to make it happen.

It's while he's contemplating all of this that Angelique practically tiptoes in his direction. 

He's outside, sitting on the steps of the cottage. The fresh air is the only thing keeping him steady, the outer world a reminder that his problems of the heart are quite insignificant compared to the vastness that is everything else. It helps a little. But then it all goes out the window again once he enters the little house. 

She sits down next to him and hands him a hot mug of cocoa.

"Hey," she greets him softly. 

He takes the cup gratefully. "Oh, thank you, my dear." He has refrained from calling her other endearments, not knowing where they stand. It takes great effort to hold back from calling "darling," or,"love," because that is what she is to him, and he can't see her any other way anymore.

"I'm tired of seeing you so sad, Aziraphale," she murmurs guiltily.

The angel stares into his cocoa. He immediately wants to deny that he is sad at all, but knows better. Or maybe he's just tired of pretending. So he nods slowly and gives her a weak smile. "I'm sorry I've been such a spoilsport. I'm sure it's affecting your mood, as well as Crowley's."

Angelique sighs and places a delicate hand on his knee, which sends a jolt of longing through him. "That's not why I'm saying that. We're all a bit down. I think we should all talk."

Aziraphale's breath gets trapped in his chest. "Talk about what?"

"Our feelings. I know that's something you two have a problem with, to put it gently." She chuckles mirthlessly. "It's my birthday tomorrow and the first thing, the first gift I want from you both, is to have dinner with me and talk. Or, at least hear what I have to say. Do you think you can do that? For me."

Just the thought about sharing their feelings–his feelings, in particular, makes him want to bolt right then and there. He swallows thickly and nods slowly. "Yes, I think I can manage."

"Tonight then? After dinner?"

Aziraphale gives her a brief glance and a smile. "Whatever you wish," he says tenderly.

Angelique smiles back, and it makes his heart flutter. "Thank you," she whispers. She leans in and gives him a kiss on the cheek. She seems to think better of it, and takes his chin between her fingers, tilting his face towards her. She kisses him on the lips. A chaste but lingering kiss that is sweet and hints at desire. Or so he thinks. He can't help but press closer and pour a little of his desperation into it.

There's a soft moan, and he can't tell who made it. Before the kiss can deepen, Angelique pulls away, caresses his face, and smiles wistfully. "Tonight then. I'm going to take a walk, get some stuff for dinner, so no one has to cook."

"I should accompany you," Aziraphale says.  _ Please let me come with you. _

"No. I want to go alone. I'll be careful. Plus I've got this now." Seemingly out of nowhere, the Flaming sword appears next to her. She caresses it like it's a living thing, a loyal pet. "I've been practising summoning it. Thank you for giving me permission."

"Of course, dear. Your safety is our main priority."

When she stands up, the sword disappears, placed back into the aethereal pocket Aziraphale created for it.

"Do not hesitate to use it should the need arise," he says gravely.

"I won't." Then he watches her walk away. When Angelique reaches the gate, she looks back at him and smiles. And she doesn't look back again.

Aziraphale sighs. He wants to stay on these steps forever, especially when he thinks about who is left in the cottage right now. The angel is alone with Crowley for the first time in a while, and he's not sure he can face him right now. So, he drinks his cocoa slowly, but finally, his arse goes numb from sitting on the step for so long. 

Plus, a large part of him really does want to spend time with Crowley alone. He longs for that familiar and comfortable companionship. Especially now since Angelique has retreated from him. 

A pang of yearning vibrates in his gut at the thought. He's gotten so used to physical intimacy that he craves it all the time. Every touch no matter how small, even if it's just a bump on the shoulder or graze of fingertips is sacred to him and cherished.  _ You're so pathetic. _

When he goes inside, he finds Crowley is nowhere to be seen. He notices the back door is open, and he quietly makes his way there. When he reaches the door, he stops and listens to Crowley, threatening some vines.

"You're pathetic, you know. Trying to weasel your way inside. You don't belong there. No one wants you there. So stay clear of that window, or I'll chop you off faster than you can climb, mark my words."

Aziraphale wants to laugh, but at the same time, Crowley's words seem more self-deprecating than anything else, so he refrains. Is that what Crowley thinks of himself? Does he truly imagine himself an intruding vine?

"It wouldn't be so horrible you know," Aziraphale utters, making Crowley whirl around, his eyes frightful, sunglasses gone for some reason. Aziraphale hasn't seen his eyes in so long that he actually sighs with relief. Crowley's cheeks are still a little more gaunt than normal, but he looks so much better now that he's gotten some days of rest, some dreamless sleep that Aziraphale has helped to provide.

"What wouldn't be so horrible?" The demon asks suspiciously.

A smirk tugs at the corner of Aziraphale's mouth. "Finding such a beautiful stem of green peeking through the window, trying to make its home inside." 

Crowley scoffs and looks away. "You would say that. Softy," he admonishes. But there is a hint of knowledge in his eyes that says he might understand what Aziraphale really means to say. Still, the doubt is obvious.

"Angelique wants to speak with us later. Did she tell you?"

Aziraphale thinks that he notices Crowley turn pale. "Yeah, she mentioned. I didn't want her to go alone. I'm actually thinking of lurking, making sure she's alright."

The angel shrugs. "If she catches you, you know what trouble you'll be in."

"Better to apologize than ask for permission, I say."

"She'll be fine," Aziraphale says, quite sure of his statement. 

Crowley kicks at some rocks. "Do you have any idea what she wants to talk about?" He ventures quietly.

"Our feelings, she said.” Aziraphale is pretty sure his own face looks a little green right now. And Crowley is definitely growing paler.

"Ha!" Crowley chuckles nervously. "Because we're so good at that!"

Aziraphale can't quite manage a laugh. "Yes, I believe that's the point." There's a long awkward silence before Aziraphale continues. "Look, Crowley, whatever happens tonight," Aziraphale clears his throat, but the lump won't go away, so he struggles to spit it out. "It won't change anything."

"Won't it?" The demon's eyes are shifty, and Aziraphale can tell he's thinking about summoning his glasses.

"Between you and me, I mean, for me, it won't change anything for me. You're still my... best friend, and honestly, I don't think that could ever change." He's astounded he's gotten this far without turning on his heel and slamming the door.

Crowley looks like he's about to cry, so he lets out a dry chuckle and looks away. "We're supposed to save this kind of sappy crap for tonight you know."

"Yes well," Aziraphale says with a sigh, "I thought I'd get some practice in. I know I desperately need it." The angel thinks he hears the serpent mutter a rude affirmation.

Aziraphale decides to leave him in peace. He goes inside and pretends to read a book while he waits for Angelique. But a few minutes later, Crowley walks in and sits nearby.

"Mind reading aloud?" He asks softly. The glasses are back on his face but Aziraphale can read the anxiety regardless.

"Of course, my dear," he says, ignoring his own blush. And so he begins to read a boring description of the town and its history. But it's better than nothing. Better than silence. Better than whatever the hell he's going to think of next.

Angelique arrives with local takeout and wine.

They gather around the dinner table, and they engage in meaningless prattle.

Nervousness is apparent in each of them. Everyone is definitely drinking but not too much, just enough to fortify their nerves and face what is to come.

Angelique clears her throat and the room grows completely silent. "Thank you for giving me my birthday gift early." She smiles. "I'm going to go first," she says, looking at the table but squaring her shoulders, "because if I wait for either of  _ you _ speak up, I'll die of old age, and apparently I'm supposed to have a long life so," she laughs and trails off before blurting out, "I'm in love with both of you." 

Aziraphale swears his heart has stopped dead in his chest at the same time Crowley makes one of his ridiculous incoherent noises.

"I'm not going to speak for either of you," she continues, giving them each a pointed stare. "But I've made my decision." There is a creek of a chair from Crowley sinking into his seat, preparing for the worst. "Both of you have told me how you feel about me. I don't want to be immortal..."

Aziraphale's heart sinks.

"... if it means breaking one of your hearts. I want to be with  _ both _ of you." She forces herself to look at them and stresses her next words. "At the same time, I mean. A real,  _ committed _ relationship with  _ both _ of you."

Aziraphale can't help but let out a wheeze as he grips the table for stability. He can hear Crowley swallow from across the table.

"So it's up to you," Angelique continues quietly, "if you two are okay with that, then I have one more birthday wish." She turns scarlet and tries for a flirtatious smile even though it's clear she is wracked with nerves. "At midnight, I will be awake in my bed. Both of you are welcome to join me… together... or separate." She coughs, lifts her glass of wine, and takes a large gulp. "There. I've said what I have to say. You two don't have to choose right now. Got about four more hours to figure it out. Until then, I'm going to go upstairs and shower and well… you know. Wait."

Angelique gets up and makes her way to Crowley. She kisses him on the lips, long and hard. A small whimper escapes him, and the sound of it makes Aziraphale's toes curl.

Then Angelique goes to Aziraphale. He's already sweating with anticipation, heart thundering in his chest. 

She leans into his ear first. "It's not a request," she whispers. "You are to come to my room at midnight. If he joins us, you have every right to leave if you want. But you have to  _ show up _ ."

Oh, she knows him so well. 

Angelique kisses him with as much fervour and desire as she did with Crowley and he responds in kind with a small moan.

She leaves then, the wicked woman, leaving them both to have to deal with the bomb she just dropped on them so considerately. And what does this mean now? Even if Aziraphale goes up there, even if he decides to stay when Crowley–if Crowley–comes to join them. What does that mean for him and Crowley? 

"I need some air," Crowley croaks out. He stands up, looking like he might fall back into his seat, but he makes it out the back door.

"Oh, bugger," Aziraphale finally exhales. He feels dizzy. Dizzy with nerves. Dizzy with possibilities. Dizzy with desire. It's too much for him. It's so hot. Air. Air! "I need some air," he mimics the demon and stumbles out the front door.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter... is called... Three to Gavotte. ::evil smile while nodding:: I think you all know what that means by now. lol


	31. Three to Gavotte

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And on the third day, a threesome was published... I swear I did not plan this to happen on THIS day. Oh, well! It's fate! On with the trinity!
> 
> Thank you my lovely beta's, Azeran and Intergalacticsupertwink!
> 
> WARNING: NSFW CONTENT AHEAD! LEMONNNNNN!

He's going to die, Aziraphale thinks as he peels off his coat and rips his bowtie from his neck. His stupid, flannel button-down is going to suffocate him. He tugs at his collar so hard that three buttons shoot across the lawn.

He's pacing–no that's not what he's doing. He's wobbling in uncoordinated circles, panicked and deranged. 

Lord, what is wrong with him?! He should be chuffed to bits because, indeed, this was  _ smashing _ news. Logically, the angel knows this.

So why is he completely cack-handed and going crackers?!

_ This is all Crowley's fault! _

"The bastard," Aziraphale hisses aloud through clenched teeth. 

When the world suddenly tilts, Aziraphale staggers with his arms outstretched and prays to find purchase. His hands grasp the front gate, and he drops his clammy head to his white knuckles.

"Breathe, man!" he rasps to himself and goes on to take a deep breath through his dry, open mouth. He exhales with a  _ whoosh _ , and he keeps doing it until his heart decides it's finally time to climb back up into his chest and slow its unnatural rhythm. 

"Just think it through." But is that really a good idea? Him thinking always spells disaster.

"What's really the matter?"

Crowley.

The answer is quick to come to mind. It's Crowley. He'll be in a room with Crowley. Naked. 

_ N a K e d?! _

He gags. He's going to be sick. He can't do this. No-no. Nope.

Maybe he doesn't have to be naked. His eyebrows climb up his forehead and his eyes narrow at the possibility. A blanket? Maybe keep his trousers on? No, that wouldn't be comfortable. Pants? There's a very convenient opening in the ones he's wearing. He could leave his vest on and his pants. That could work.

_ WHAT?! _

What the fuck is he thinking? He's planning ahead? 

Maybe Crowley won't show up. Oh, that might be worse. No, Angelique will see to it that he isn't bothered by Crowley's rejection. It could work. But what if he does show up? Then what? What would be expected of him? Would he have to kiss Crowley? Fff-ff-fffuuu- have  _ sex _ with him? But they haven't even talked! Preposterous to think he'd be expected to fu–have sex with Crowley before they even got around to talking about how they feel!

No. Angelique wouldn't do that. This is for her and has very little to do with him and Crowley. They were expected to make love to Angelique...

_ Together. _

So, what? One takes the front and the other–

"Good heavens." He gags again.

It's not like he hasn't done this before. He absolutely has, shamefully enough. He knows what to do. He knows how to do it, and according to those two gentlemen back then, he knows how to do it well.

A bell tolls.

Aziraphale snaps his head and violently looks around. "Shit!" What time is it?! He fishes out his pocket watch and-and-and–

He's been out here for hours.  _ Four _ hours. It's time. He's going to be late. The bell tolls again, and again, and–

He shoots back into the house with missile-like precision. There is no time to think anymore. Just to act. His mind is out of commission anyway. His heart is back to pounding beyond control. His body is...

His body is...

Ready.

His body is  _ so _ ready, and he guesses he should just trust it. To Hell with everything else! He was commanded to be in Angelique's room at a specific time and damn it all to kingdom-come-that-didn’t if he isn't going to do just that.

The angel bursts through the room like a furious East wind, eyes wild and chest heaving. His fiery gaze lands directly on Angelique who looks as startled as a pop-eyed goldfish.

There's a pregnant pause, and neither dares to even twitch. 

Then Angelique cracks a toothy grin and giggles.

Aziraphale practically leaps on the bed, attacking Angelique's lips with his own and making her fall back. He's trapped her, bracketed her with his arms and legs, and she tears his shirt wide open–the shirt will have no buttons by the end of this.

Angelique untucks his vest while he invades her mouth with his tongue. It's sloppy and frenzied, and neither of them gives a fig. Aziraphale groans as she rakes her nails through the soft hairs over his bare belly and digs into his love handles, self-consciousness long since dead. He thrusts into nothing, aching to relieve his pulsing erection.

The minx bites his lip hard, making him yelp, and growl. He's never felt so feral in his life. The vest has been pulled off, and the angel realises his cock is already out. He pulls back to remove the  _ infernal _ denim trousers, kicking off his shoes in the process while Angelique relieves herself of her nightgown, exposing those beautiful, perfect breasts and everything else.

Aziraphale doesn't have a chance to remove his pants because Angelique has wrapped her arms around his neck and dragged him back down. The skin on skin contact makes them both moan. He kisses her senseless, grabs her breast, then kisses his way down to a pert nipple. She arches off the bed and keens. Aziraphale continues to give it his attention while he drags an open palm down her side and between her legs. He nearly comes right there because she is dripping wet with arousal and it takes everything in him not to unravel.

"Say things," she pants, "I like it when you say things–"

"I'm going to fuck you into this mattress until you can't walk straight, and then I'm going to fuck you some more."

"NGH-OH-my- _ fuck _ - _ yessss... _ "

_ That _ was  _ not _ Angelique.

All of Aziraphale's muscles go rigid, and the hairs at his nape stand at attention. He can't look. If he looks, he'll lose his nerve but probably not his erection, and he just can't take this bloody shit anymore. He needs to fuck  _ someone _ and  _ soon _ . 

So instead of looking to where Crowley is most certainly standing, Aziraphale buries his face in the crook of Angelique's neck and tries to put air back in his lungs. It's proving difficult. He might have a panic attack. But Angelique rubs and caresses his back, soothing him, and whispers encouragement directly in his ear.

"It's alright, love," she murmurs, "it's alright. We all love each other, right? Yes?"

Aziraphale nods but still refuses to emerge from his small sanctuary. He focuses on breathing in her unique feminine bouquet mixed with a strawberry aroma. Delicious. His mouth waters. He wants to lick. He wants to bite. But he can't move.

"Turn off the light," Angelique whispers. 

No one else but Crowley could have pitched the room into darkness. The angel hears a slow progress of shoes, clothes, and the distinct metal clink of a belt clatter to the floor. 

He's fit to burst. The reality of what's happening makes Aziraphale sob.

"Shh, come here," Angelique says as she tightens her hold and rocks him. 

He feels so utterly weak and useless. Then a hand, much broader and harder than Angelique's is placed ever-so-gently on his head. Aziraphale stiffens again. His brain goes on the fritz. 

Crowley is touching him. 

Aziraphale is terrified beyond comprehension. The slender fingers flex in his curls, massaging his scalp lightly and Angelique begins her soothing strokes again.

"We can stop," says Angelique tenderly.

"I can leave, angel," says Crowley, low and deep and full of affection. 

Aziraphale takes three calming breaths and shakes his head  _ no _ . This is it. He can't turn back now. This will finally change everything. It's so close, everything he desires is literally within reach, touching him, comforting him. He could cry. He does, but silently. 

In an effort to salvage the evening, Aziraphale kisses the sensitive skin under Angelique's ear. 

"That's it," Crowley encourages as his petting becomes more confident. "She's lovely, isn't she?"

Lord, this is so erotic that Aziraphale can hardly believe it. He nods, not trusting his voice. He feels Angelique's flesh warm further. He starts to rut on her thigh, his prick had begun to soften in his panic, but it fills again now to an almost painful degree. 

" _ Yesss _ ," Crowley hisses, sounding completely gone. "Fuck yesss, I can't believe this is happening."

An involuntary, hysterical laugh comes out of Aziraphale and to his surprise and, yes, amusement, Crowley and Angelique chuckle. 

The angel catches a hint of brimstone as Crowley leans down to kiss Angelique. She moans into his mouth, and Aziraphale braves a glance and  _ lord _ , how did this happen? How did this wonderful, beautiful thing happen, to him of all beings?

He can see Crowley's bare shoulder, freckles peppered about and all Aziraphale wants to do is kiss them one by one. With a shock, the angel realises he can. Crowley is still holding the back of his head as he gives Angelique's lips his attention. That should mean Aziraphale is allowed to touch too, yes? 

With a trembling sigh, Aziraphale leans closer and gives Crowley's shoulder a quick, barely-a-kiss peck, a touch of lips really. But it has an effect. Crowley stops, his mouth still on Angelique, his closed eyes shut harder. For a horrifying moment, Aziraphale thinks he's ruined everything, but then Crowley moans in approval and kisses Angelique deeper.

That's all the invitation Aziraphale needs. The haze of lust starts to cloud over him again; the more comfortable he becomes. The more normal it seems for Crowley to be here. It doesn't seem difficult anymore. And who's to say this is really happening anyway. This could all be a dream.

The angel goes in for a proper taste of Crowley's corporation, opening his mouth this time and dragging his tongue over those adorable freckles. The demon groans and gasps as if emerging out of water. 

"We better move things along," Crowley announces desperately, "or this is going to end right-the-fuck-now."

Angelique giggles and Aziraphale smiles. Just thinking something as little as a lick to a shoulder, for Christ's sake, could bring Crowley off makes Aziraphale's belly tighten with eagerness. 

Crowley moves away, and Aziraphale misses his heat something fierce. The angel gets up, releasing Angelique so she can sit up on the bed. He can't help it when his eyes drift to get a good look at Crowley.

The air seems thin, and his breath hitches. Crowley is... he's...

"Beautiful," Aziraphale whispers aloud. He can tell that Crowley is making a point not to look at him, which is fine by the angel because he’s dancing on the last thread of his nerves right now.

Aziraphale tries not to ogle at Crowley’s pale naked form as the demon sits at the headboard. What he does watch is how Crowley's long arms snake their way around Angelqiue's waist from behind and drag her between his legs.

It's a picture. It's a memory burning into Aziraphale's mind that he will never forget. His sweethearts, bare and inviting, waiting for him to join them. 

Angelique stretches out her hand toward him, and he doesn't hesitate to take it. As he walks toward them on his knees, he can feel his cock heavy with need and chafing on the hem of his pants. 

"Oh," he says as he looks down at himself. "Well, it's only fair," he mumbles. He ignores the sniggers from the misfits and removes the last bit of clothing. He is as nude as his lovers now and finally ready to answer their call.

Crowley leans back on the propped pillows, taking Angelique with him. She opens her legs, and Aziraphale's nostrils flare wide as he inhales her musky scent. His mouth waters, not for the first time, and he can't help himself. He dives down and works her open further with his tongue. Aziraphale hears them both moan and his cock twitches in response. He's not down there long, he can't take much more. He rises up.

"Ready, love?" Crowley asks hoarsely.

The beauty nods.

"Wait!" Aziraphale exclaims a bit too loud. He doesn't want to be a coward anymore. 

They stare at him with worry as he reaches toward the night table and turns on the lamp. When he leans back, his heart nearly leaps out of his chest. It's so real now. So lovely.

"That's better," he whispers, and his lovers grin back at him.

He and Crowley's eyes meet. There's a tense moment, but Crowley turns his attention to Angelique. He lifts her up and edges back. 

_ Oh, my stars... _

Crowley reaches beneath himself, no doubt about to start working Angelique open. Just the thought makes Aziraphale shudder.

"What the fuck?" Says Crowley and his jaw drops.

Angelique blushes. "I forgot," she says guiltily.

"You're bloody perfect, you know that?" Crowley growls and bites down on the meat of her shoulder. She whimpers, and before Aziraphale can ask what that was about, Angelique gasps and Crowley lifts his hand clutching something pink.

A plug. Aziraphale gawks.  _ Well, I guess she got more than takeout while she was gone—the wicked, little minx. _

Crowley sets the plug aside, and now Aziraphale can mentally picture the demon positioning his cock at Angelique's entrance. His mind fries again and all he can do is stare at their faces as Angelique slowly seats herself onto Crowley. It must look like he's watching a tennis match because Aziraphale can't decide who to watch more! Each microexpression is priceless and precious. The angel bounces a bit with impatience, and then they all groan together.

Lord have mercy.

Aziraphale licks his lips. He watches as Crowley moves his hips in shallow thrusts, slow, and gentle. Angelique's mouth hangs open in shock, and her eyes are closed tight. Crowley buries his face in Angelique's hair, refusing to look at Aziraphale.

"Az-Aziraphale," Angelique rasps and clutches onto his arm for dear life. "Please."

_ Oh.  _ That's right. He's here to participate too.

"Right. Rather." Aziraphale moves closer, having a difficult time deciding on where to put his hands. He grabs the headboard by Crowley's head with one hand and takes his cock in the other.

As soon as his tip grazes Angelque's sex, he whimpers. She's hot and soaked. Just a little on purpose, he slips downward and gently juts against Crowley's bollocks.

"Ah!" Crowley cries out and throws his head back.

"Fuck, sorry!" Aziraphale says without thinking, growing dizzier by what he's just done.

Crowley lets out a hysterical chortle and smiles wide while still looking at the ceiling. "Never apologise for something like that again, you ridiculous angel."

Aziraphale almost doubles over in chuckles. His brain feels fuzzy and warm.

"Can you two shut the fuck up and get on with it?" Angelique bites out with slight annoyance.

It only makes them laugh more. Angelique decides to take things into her own hands by literally pulling Aziraphale closer by his cock and pushing herself down hard.

The angel and demon shout in unison, and suddenly the frenzy is back. Aziraphale's vision blurs the moment he drives his cock inside. It's so incredibly tight. Crowley takes up too much room for Aziraphale to easily slip within, and it makes Aziraphale's eyes roll up beneath his lids. He's definitely not thinking anymore, and when his balls graze against Crowley's, he's not even in the same universe.

They say it takes two to tango, but there are dances made for three as well. And that's precisely what this is, a dance. A dance between lovers. Lovers who trust, and sacrifice for one another, who can and will share everything between them from now on. Everything will be different. The chasm between the angel and demon finally connected by a bridge that this beautiful being has lovingly provided.

Even though Aziraphale can't think, gratitude overwhelms him. He can feel himself glowing with it, every thrust opens the gates of his heart ever wider as he basks in the warmth of Angelique's immense love.

And then he feels something else. Something magnanimous and all-consuming.

The angel's eyes snap open only to see Crowley staring back at him in awe, his love coming off him in tidal waves that crash right into Aziraphale's overwhelmed heart. " _ Ungh _ ! Oh, Crowley!" He sobs from the sheer bliss of it all.

"Kiss already, for fuck's sake!" Angelique yells between the most primal moans Aziraphale has ever heard.

Aziraphale follows his given orders, and Crowley meets him in the middle. When their lips join together, when their tongues collide, as incredible as it may seem, the three dancers come undone together.

  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Easter! ;)


	32. Three Confessions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The art in this chapter is not in the same style as the others because I wanted to get some practice in with the new things I've been learning! Drawing out of my head is getting easier and I'm extremely happy about it, even though it still looks a bit "cartoony." Hope you like the art anyway. It's fluffy.
> 
> Thank you, my betas; Azeran and Intergalacticsupertwink!
> 
> I'm glad you all enjoyed the last chapter. SURPRISE! MORE SMUT AHEAD!
> 
> WARNING: NSFW CONTENT AHEAD! LEMON!

Boneless. Weightless. Pleasantly sore and incredibly comfortable. That's how Aziraphale feels when the sunlight in the room finally starts to tease him awake. Other senses come to him as his eyes flutter open and look at the white ceiling. He feels cocooned, embraced, held. When he shifts his gaze down, he finds he has actually cocooned himself in his own wings. 

That has certainly never happened before.

There's a small snuffle and Aziraphale feels a shift at his side. He lifts his wings slightly to take a peek, and his heart immediately warms and fills to the brim when he finds both Angelique and Crowley tucked in his arms on either side of him. The angel can't help but beam when Crowley makes a small sound of complaint and nuzzles his face further into Aziraphale. The demon's nose tickles his upper ribs and Aziraphale jolts and fails to hold back a laugh.

Crowley tenses but stays as is. Aziraphale thinks he might be awake and wondering what to do. The angel is at a loss as well, so he remains still and brings down his wing to guard Crowley against the light and give him time to figure out his next move. 

Flashes of last night's  _ activities _ fill his mind and start to stir his arousal. For a brief moment, Aziraphale panics as he realises he's naked. Nothing for it now though and, anyway, the other two are just as bare. 

In fact...

Aziraphale has noticed a certain demon is probably thinking the same thing because there is a distinct hardness pressed against his leg. This in no way helps Aziraphale get his own problem under control.

_ Lord _ , he thinks, he had a ménage à trois! With Crowley! Never in all the years on Earth could he have imagined this happening. 

Angelique grumbles and then lets out a soft and surprised, "Oh!" 

Aziraphale lifts his right wing and smiles at her. She glances up and grins back. Angelique lets out a long sigh and stretches, then lifts herself on one elbow. She stares at his wings in awe but says nothing. Then she furrows her brow and nods at his other side.

"Still sleeping?" she mouths.

Aziraphale knows that's not the case, he can feel Crowley's heart racing against his skin, but the demon still refuses to move. "I don't think so," he mouths back.

Angelique gives him a knowing look, leans toward him and gives him a long appreciative kiss. "I'm going to shower. Talk to him," she whispers and pokes Aziraphlae in the ribs. "And maybe..." she makes a rude gesture with her fingers.

The angel rolls his eyes but nods. He watches Angelique leave the room and shut the door behind her. By all accounts, Aziraphale should be on his way to a cosmic meltdown, but surprisingly he isn't. Maybe it's because he's quite sure the demon is worse off at the moment, probably having his own inner conniption. 

Aziraphale swallows and shockingly makes the first move. He brings his right wing over his left and uses it to press Crowley closer as he turns onto his side a bit. This brings the demon's face into his chest and below his chin. Slowly, he brings his right arm over to Crowley's waist. 

The demon lets out a small gasp.

Before the spell is broken completely, Aziraphale buries his nose into Crowley's mussed hair and inhales deeply. He can't help but hum and squeeze Crowley's hip with affection. The angel gives an experimental thrust, and his cock nudges Crowely's stomach.

The demon groans from deep in his chest.

"Are you awake, dearest?" Aziraphale says, forcing himself not to pause or hesitate with his endearment. 

It wouldn't do for Crowley to doubt his affection now. Not after the previous evening. Not after what they shared. Not after Aziraphale was enveloped by the whirlwind of his demon's love for the first time. 

And what love! Better than he's ever dared to imagine. He wants desperately to feel it again.

Crowley makes another noise that sounds like an affirmative but also a complaint. 

They need to talk, or more accurately, Aziraphale needs to talk. He's afraid if he looks at Crowley while doing it that his throat will close up again and they'd be right back where they started. He dreads that most of all. So he tightens his hold and speaks to a lock of red hair instead. 

"Last night was lovely," the angel whispers. Crowley says nothing, so he takes that as permission to continue. "Thank you for letting me," his mouth goes dry, but he soldiers on, "for letting me feel how  _ you _ feel."

There's a grunt.

"I should have known. I did know, if I'm honest, and I  _ want _ to be honest. I don't want to keep making excuses. I..." a lump threatens to choke him. No amount of swallowing or clearing is getting rid of it, so he forces it out, not caring how he'll sound.

"I feel the same way, Crowley."

A small whimper.

"I've, oh God, I've loved you for  _ so _ long."

At that, the demon scrambles in Aziraphale's arms, poking his head through the top of his wings and pushing Aziraphale onto his back.

Crowley spits out a white feather from his mouth then locks eyes with Aziraphale. "Long. How? Long how? How long?" 

Those eyes. Those eyes are pinning him to the bed more than anything at the moment. Well, he was right, Aziraphale's throat is closing, but he tries to answer anyway. What comes out is a confusing sounding squeak.

Crowley shakes his head and rolls his eyes. "Fine. My self-respect pretty much croaked awhile back, and considering, well, considering what we did, erm, last night–by the way, what the fuck right?!" He scoffs then clears his throat and grows serious, if not a bit nervous. "And not to mention we are, right this second, in the nude... cuddling. I, uh, for me that is. It's been from," a long, drawn-out, tortured noise comes out of him before he says, "from the start. From the start of it all, angel."

Even though the demon's weight presses on him, Aziraphale feels like a boulder has just rolled off his chest. "Oh, Crowley." His voice is hoarse and full of emotion. "Although it was a slower realisation for me, you did leave quite the impression on that wall. From the start I thought you were, lord, you were and still are so beautiful. I couldn't stop thinking about you–"

Crowley crushes his lips to Aziraphale's. It's hard and desperate. He emerges with a hiss and barred teeth. "Fuck. Last night was terrific, angel. You have no idea...well, you do, but fuck!" He kisses Aziraphale again, bruising their lips in the process. The demon lifts his head again, and he looks so excited that Aziraphale has to giggle. He's so resplendent. "I never fucking imagined, well, you know, fucking. I mean I have, just didn't think it would actually happen. And the way it happened! Fuck."

It's easy to feed off the demon's enthusiasm. Aziraphale grins and can't believe his eyes or his ears. Then a thought makes him pause. "Well, we haven't... actually..."

Crowley frowns and looks concerned. "Haven't actually what?"

"Well, you know..." Aziraphale gives a dramatic glance downwards and then meets Crowley's eyes again. 

"Fucked?" Crowley blurts out.

" _ Really _ , Crowley," Aziraphale admonishes with a huff, "must you be so romantic?" he deadpans.

Crowley chuckles and kisses him again. "Angel, I have been romancing you for six thousand bloody yearssss." He laughs again but stops.

Aziraphale looks pained and feels so guilty. "I'm so sor–"

"N-n-n-n-no! I'm hard and ready to go. None of this now." He gives a fierce shake of his head, and then his eyes light up again. "Oh, the thingsss I've imagined, Aziraphale. Where do I even fucking start! I feel like  _ you _ at that Chinese buffet you always drag me to! Oh! What about you? Let's start there. What do you want, angel, because I'm up for anythin'. And I  _ mean _ ...  _ anything _ ." He gives Aziraphale a pointed stare, eyes wide, and nods his head slowly.

"Well." Aziraphale goes through all the possibilities, but there's plenty of time for flair and dramatics later. "I think I just want your cock inside me right now."

Crowley lets out a high-pitched gasp-yell, and he's scrambling again under Aziraphale's wings to shift his position. 

"Angelique said you had a dirty mouth but holy shit, angel."

Aziraphale's eyes bug out. "She said what?! When?!" But the answer never comes because Crowley has slithered his way down and the angel can feel the demon's hot breath on his cock. "Oh my."

There's a long muffled, needy whine from below and a bite to Aziraphale's thigh. "Can I use my mouth first?  _ Pleassse. _ "

The angel is starting to feel a bit insane. "Ha. Eh, since you asked so nicely... ah!" A tongue laves it's way from the base to the tip of his cock. "Fuck!"

"Oh, yessss." Crowley pushes Aziraphale's hips down and spreads his legs to set himself between them. "You're glorious. In a good way. Bad way? Whatever. I  _ waaant _ ." He licks again and then sucks the head.

"Lord, have mercy!" Aziraphale's hips give another involuntary thrust, but Crowley's hold is unrelenting.

"Say the things."

"Eh?" Aziraphale pants. "What things?"

"The things–the thiiiingsss."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Aziraphale says, breathless. It's just so much. So much Crowley. "Could you just suck my cock already?" He pleads.

Crowley gives another shrill whine. " _ Those _ things. Those things!"

"I'm just talking! I swear, you and Angelique are absurd– _ oh _ shit!" He's enveloped by warmth, and a skilful tongue is doing things it has no right to be doing. Aziraphale makes the mistake of letting his wings stretch off the bed, giving him the most sinful view of the demon bobbing his head on his cock. "Oh, no." He suddenly panics as he feels his climax approaching fast. "Crowley, please stop. Please! I want to come with you inside me..."

Crowley nearly convulses. He lets go of Aziraphale with his eyes closed tight and raises his gaze to the sky. "Someone in the universe _preserve_ me," he begs. "The angel means to smite me with his filthy tongue!"

"For goodness sake."

Crowley snaps his eyes back to Aziraphale, the amber has completely swallowed the whites of his eyes. "I could come just listening to that prim little voice say such obscene things."

" _ Obscene _ ?!" Aziraphale can't stand it anymore. Just because he doesn't spew out vulgarities on the regular, like someone he knows, doesn't mean it should come as such a shock. He's an angel, not a monk! "You haven't heard obscene, my dear." He's sexually frustrated and on a lustful high. If Crowley wants obscene, then...

"Listen here, serpent. If you don't fuck me right this instant, I'm going to flip you on your back and stuff my fat cock down your throat. So, chop-chop!"

... 

"I think I'm having a heart attack..."

"Crowley, I swear to Someone...!"

"Okay! Prep?"

"Crowley!"

"Right, miracle then." Crowley snaps his fingers.

The angel jolts and cries out from the strange and not exactly unpleasant sensation inside him. "Oh! I should probably put my wings away."

"No! Leave them!" Crowley pleads. " _ Leave _ them," Crowley growls.

"Okay," Aziraphale squeaks. 

The angel fully expects for Crowley to just dive right in, he's so frazzled and erratic, but Crowley does not. Instead, he cups Aziraphale's face so tenderly that Aziraphale could cry. The demon's serpentine eyes are full of fondness. He drags a thumb across the angel's cheek.

"You're certain? It's not... you're sure it's not too fast?" Crowley asks, with his love starting seep out of his being and flow into Aziraphale's chest.

"Crowley," Aziraphale replies just as sweetly, "six thousands years of wasted time, and we just had a threesome last night." They both snigger, but then Aziraphale takes his hand and places it over his heart. "I think I've made enough mistakes. I want you and I don't want to wait another moment."

Aziraphale pulls Crowley down for a kiss. He licks Crowley's bottom lip, and the demon opens for him. Everything has been fantastic but kissing Crowley is singular. So long, Aziraphale has waited so _damn_ long, and now he can hardly believe this is happening. The angel is lost in Crowley's mouth, his scent, the heat of his skin, but when Crowley lowers himself and makes contact, the world ultimately falls away. He barely notices the moans that escape them both at finding each other hot and slick. Aziraphale's whole corporation, his being entire, is aflame.

"Crowley," Aziraphale keens, "you feel, you feel so... oh!" His air supply is completely closed off when he feels the tip of Crowley's cock nudge down below. He wills himself not to come, but his orgasm is fast approaching again. "Oh, bugger, 'm not going to last," he slurs.

"Neither am–oh fuck. I have to, I have–'m sorry I can't"

"Do it," Aziraphale thinks he says, and it  _ was _ pretty close. 

Crowley gives one hard thrust, and it's over for them both. Just like that. Aziraphale clutches Crowley as if his life depends on it because it really feels like it does. The sheer force and length of his climax might discorporate him on the spot, and he'd be the happiest angel in the universe still.

It seems to be just as powerful for Crowley because he's making sounds Aziraphale wouldn't even have been able to dream up, and he buries himself deeper with every wave of pleasure.

They stay in each other's arms, gasping for air. Aziraphale's legs tremble. If he thought he felt boneless before, he really knows the meaning of it now. 

After a while of just holding each other, the haze of lust begins to fade. Reality starts to settle in Aziraphale's mind, and the room comes into sharp focus. 

_ We've made love. I'm holding Crowley in my arms. He loves me. Has loved me.  _

He could have this now. He could have a life with love, romance, affection and intimacy with Angelique and Crowley, and it could potentially last forever. It's overwhelmingly wonderful.

"I love you," Aziraphale manages on a shaky exhale. "And I'm going to tell you every day. I'm going to  _ show _ you every day, just how much."

The demon trembles in his arms and seems to be sobbing. But it's all right now. Everything is more than all right. And Aziraphale is even more determined to fight for their happiness. And win.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The boys needed some time alone ;)


	33. Three Fiends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I'm late! I had to see a doctor today and then I konked out from fatigue. PMDD SUCKS! 
> 
> Anyway... I finally caved in and started a ko-fi page. It's probably the worst possible time to do it but my partner and friends assure me that it is a good "call to the universe," regardless, to fulfil my dream of publishing my original novels in the hopefully near future. When this madness has ended. 
> 
> Here is the link if you feel moved to contribute to my goal now or in the future! 
> 
> <https://ko-fi.com/mordellestories>
> 
> Obviously, don't feel bad if you can't contribute. Your encouragement and support you've already given me is more than enough to keep pushing toward my goals no matter what. So, for that, I am eternally grateful to you all already!

As blissful as the honeymoon stage of their triadic relationship was, it could not last. It really was lovely, though. Days seemed so much brighter even with a darkened sky. They drank in each other's love as much as they could, not knowing how long they might have left. 

Of course, there was lots of sex, a fantastic amount of it, but there were other simpler and domestic things that Aziraphale cherished dearly. Things were easy with Angelique, as they always had been. But just as Aziraphale predicted, things with Crowley took some courage and patience–and lots of communication that was forced upon them by Angelique. Aziraphale was so grateful for her, for her consistent effort in making sure that he and Crowley overcame their insecurities. 

Surprisingly, sex with Crowley came easy. It was reaching out to him for any kind of nonsexual affection that was quite a trial for Aziraphale. Angelique almost had a sixth sense for times such as those. She'd find an excuse to have them all sit on the sofa or in bed, drape herself over both of them and then excuse herself after a few moments, leaving he and Crowley basically cuddled together. Or sometimes she'd take both their hands, kiss each one, connect them and flit away. 

It got easier, and Aziraphale wasn't anxious about it. They'd get there.

But there was a certain problem that had to be dealt with and soon. Rather than wait for the assassin to find them, they resolved to make the first strike.

* * *

"Well, that was easier than I thought it'd be," Crowley grumbled, hand clasped tightly in Angelique's.

"Our foe certainly wasted no time, did he?" Aziraphale affirmed. 

The angel's senses were tingling. The bookshop felt oppressive, like a looming shadow was fit to swallow it whole.

"Aziraphale," Crowley called out anxiously, "it's more than one."

The demon was correct, to Aziraphale's great dismay. Three against one was much better odds than, well, three against three. The angel swallows thickly. Angelique should have been left at the cottage. 

"Crowley, take Angelique home!" Aziraphale orders.

"No," cries Angelique. "We won't leave you!" 

"Nothing for it now, angel. They're too close anyway. They'll follow us."

The pressure in the room thickens until Angelique holds her head in her hands, groaning in pain. Crowley is seeing to her when a sudden  _ pop  _ makes them all jump. A blinding light fills the room, and the bookshop's resident dust particles burst in the air from an abrupt and hard landing.

There's a series of coughs when a booming voice emanates from a large silhouette. 

"Well, those were some wards, huh?! Bravo." 

The fiends move toward them, and the dust clears enough for them to make out three archangels.

Aziraphale shakes his head in disappointment while at the same time, fear starts to grip his heart. "I had hoped I was wrong, but I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, Gabriel."

Sandalphon and Metatron flank Gabriel's sides.

"Hello, Aziraphale," Sandalphon sneers.

"Greetings again, principality," says Metatron.

"Great!" Gabriel claps his hands and smiles politely. "We've all said our hellos. Now we can move on to business. I need that human." He points to Angelique and tilts his head. "So, just hand her over, and all will go back to how it was. You ignore us, we ignore you, blah, blah, blah."

Crowley snarls and stands protectively in front of Angelique, never letting her go. "Not gonna happen birdbrain."

Gabriel frowns. "Unfortunately, that's not an option. We all know what happens to anyone who, well, makes a nephilim. And, I know you guys are indestructible, but me?" he gestures to himself, “see, I'm not so lucky."

"Whatever happened to not sullying your temple with  _ gross _ matter?" Aziraphale mocks, trying to bide time.

Gabriel grimaces. "It was trending," he replies through his teeth. “And I thought I cleaned up my own mess–"

Sandolphon coughs. 

"Eh, sorry," Gabriel apologises weakly, "not you two. You're my pride and joy and all that. Anyway, it looks like I missed one!" He has the audacity to laugh. 

Aziraphale swallows his dread and stands straighter. "Gabriel, there's no need for violence."

"I agree."

"But we cannot let you harm Angelique. There must be something we can work out."

"Like what, Aziraphale, huh?" Gabriel takes a small step forward. "Heaven and Hell are still keeping an eye on you two, and they are bound to notice a mutt in your midst. I can't let that happen.

"Mutt?!" Angelique yells in outrage.

"Uh, yeah, duh. Look it up." Gabriel takes another step forward. He's merely three strides away from Aziraphale while the other archangels walk slowly outward.

They remind Aziraphale of a pack of wolves just waiting to devour their prey. "Assumption. You did it for your sons. You can do it for your descendant as well."

"Yeah, ya know, I don't think so. I almost didn't get away with that, and I already have these two blackmailing me. I don't need to dish out more favours, plus all the positions are full, and I'd have to draw on the Heavenly Host, and how am I supposed to explain that? The economy hasn't been the same since the Great Plan fell apart. Thanks to you two."

Aziraphale presses on, regardless of how pearshaped things seem to be going. "She doesn't want a position or prestige in Heaven, and she wants no favours from you. If you make her assume, she'll just be another low-rank angel. No one will question her existence. She wants to stay with us, Gabriel, no one will meddle. And you know as well as I that no one will give a flying fig what you do with your miracles."

"It seems like a fair solution, father," Metatron offers offhandedly. "She is of your essence, after all."

"Damn it, Metatron! I told you never to call me that! Can you just let me handle this without you butting in?" Gabriel groans and pinches the bridge of his nose. He mutters something unintelligible and seems to be weighing his options. Finally, he lifts his gaze and takes a long look at each of them. "You're not giving her up without a fight, huh?"

"Does this answer your question, Bigbird?" Crowley lifts a hand, drawing Hellfire into his grasp. It's a small flame, but they all know how much damage it can cause.

Aziraphale looks at Gabriel expectantly. "Well?"

Gabriel lets out a long weary sigh and shrugs. "Fine. Come on over, sweetheart." He waves her over, but Angelique knows better.

"Send your sons away," Aziraphale requests not too nicely. "You'll perform the rite alone while we guard her."

Gabriel scoffs. "You don't trust a fellow angel?"

"No, not in the slightest, I'm afraid."

"Ah, well, lamentable, really. Breaks my heart!" Gabriel holds his hands to his heart in mock pain before he lunges for Aziraphale's throat. At the same time, Aziraphale produces the flaming sword.

Aziraphale is sweating bullets, and his heart is fit to explode with a mixture of righteous rage and cowardly terror. Rage takes the forefront. He pushes forward slowly, making Gabriel back up against a bookshelf. The archangel is cornered.

"Didn't we confiscate that?" Gabriel says with his hands raised in surrender. 

"Send Sandalphon and Metatron aways. Right now," Aziraphale utters quietly, dangerously. 

"You heard him, boys," Gabriel smirks, but there is fear in his eyes.

The other archangels shoot skyward. Aziraphale scans for them, but they are nowhere nearby.

"Now, as I was saying," Aziraphale clears his throat, "you'll perform the rite while we guard her soul. And you will do it at blade-point. It was never a request. I've read the ritual, Gabriel. If you veer off at any point, I will drive this sword through your fucking head."

Gabriel nods and purses his lips. "Wow. I gotta say, I'm a bit impressed. Okay, but the second you betray me–"

"You'll what?" Aziraphale abruptly repositions the sword under Gabriel's chin. The flames dance so close to his flesh that Gabriel's corporation begins to sweat. "Crowley, Angelique, come forward now. It's all right."

Hand in hand, the demon and nephilim go to Aziraphale's side. Gabriel slowly reaches toward Angelique. She looks to her angelic lover for reassurance, and he nods. Angelique approaches the archangel, and he places his hand on her head.

"I, the archangel Gabriel, messenger of the Almighty, grant to thee, spirit of my spirit, assumption. Thine angelic name shall be... uh... I dunno..."

"I was thinking Zadkiel," Angelique supplies helpfully.

Gabriel rolls his eyes. "Fine. Thine angelic name shall be Zadkiel, and you shall serve the Lord henceforth. I bless you, Zadkiel." he finishes hurriedly and blandly.

A bright light shines on Angelique's head and then it's gone as quickly as it came. There is silence until Angelique opens her eyes.

"Well?" Crowley asks with impatience.

Angelique blinks and looks at her hands. "Um, am I supposed to feel different?"

Gabriel swallows hard. "Yeah, it didn't work."

"Why not?" Aziraphale demands.

Gabriel grimaces. "Uh, because she's with child."

A piece of fluff could fall gently on the carpet, and one would still be able to hear it.

"WHAT?!"

"WHAT?!"

"WHAT?!"

They cry out simultaneously.

Aziraphale stammers while Crowley splutters like a clunker on the road that's finally seen its last day.

"Th-that can't, no, no, w-we would have known! It-It  _ literally _ takes a miracle for-for-for  _ that _ to happen!" Aziraphale sends glare in the demon's direction. "Crowley! How could you do something like this without consulting her?!"

"OH! Oh ho! Yuh-ye- _ yeah _ ,  _ yes _ , blame the  _ demon _ ! I sure as Heaven didn't do it!"

"Well, I sure as Hell didn't either!"

"Um..." Angelique squeaks and raises her hand timidly. "I think it was me."

Everyone gawks at her.

"You guys are really somethin' else," Gabriel mutters and shakes his head. "Well, you're just as screwed as I am if anyone finds out, so I guess we're square? Mutual blackmail! Delightful." He chuckles mirthlessly. " _ So _ , can I go now?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only the epilogue left to go!!! XD  
> Can you believe it?!
> 
> BTW I have started updating Beetle Omens again! Check it if you haven't already. I'll be posting the comic first thing on Ko-fi from now before posting anywhere else!
> 
> [Read BEETLE OMENS here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22036555/chapters/52591645)


	34. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh-my-glob! This is it. The final chapter. ::cries::
> 
> Thank you beta's Azeran and Intergalacticsupertwink!
> 
> EDIT: I totally forgot to answer the question "Who/what does Angelique represent"  
> The answer is: THE FANDOM! The Good Omens fandom is the bridge that brings these two idiots together in so many different ways. The art, the fics, the roleplaying, the cosplay... those are all the babies we've made together. XD
> 
> Cheesy? Yes. Do I care? No.

Three years later.

Surprisingly, it was not at all challenging to get Gabriel to make do on his word and bless Angelique with assumption. Her mother opted out of immortality, to her dismay, but she's come to understand her decision since her father could not be granted the same miracle. They've made the south downs their home. They purchased a proper cottage with enough room for their family of four. 

The bookshop only opens once a week now. Sometimes less. Aziraphale has other priorities he'd rather be focusing on anyway, so he doesn't mind. The angel is a father now, has been for some time, and he doesn't want to miss a moment of their child's development and milestones. Little Jesse is growing much too fast for his liking. Crowley empathises, in fact. He’s exceptionally sour when the subject comes up.

Despite that, Aziraphale has never seen the demon so happy in all the years they've known one another. And who could blame him? Aziraphale believes he hasn't felt such bliss either, and he's an angel from Heaven! 

Aziraphale watches Crowley now. He's playing with their little one in the garden that is their own personal miniature Eden. Jesse is a wild tiny thing, and Crowley seems the only one capable of keeping up with their sweetling. Crowley doesn't mind in the least. The demon must feel the angel's stare because he looks up, locks eyes with him, and smiles brilliantly.

"Lunch is served!" Angelique calls from the open window.

"Angelique, if I have to suffer one more slice of beans on toast this week, I swear I'll eat my shoe," he calls back cheekily. 

She glares at Aziraphale, and a shoe goes hurtling through the air and hits him on the head.

"Ow! Uncalled for!" Aziraphale rubs the sore spot while Jesse laughs hysterically and Crowley chuckles.

"You definitely asked for that, angel." Crowley approaches and leans in for a kiss, which Aziraphale gives freely with no hesitation or fear.

"Mm. I suppose I did," the angel concedes.

Jesse runs inside and demands, of course, for beans on toast. 

"Little traitor," Aziraphale mutters.

This only makes Crowley smile wider, his naked eyes full of mirth and a bit of mischief. "Don't worry, angel, I got you some of those Belgian chocolates you love so much. I'm sure it'll salvage the meal."

"Thank Someone."

"I heard that!" Angelique shouts then comes around the corner and points a finger at Aziraphale. "Don't spoil your lunch with those now. I've experimented with my own version of cornish pasties!" She smiles and waggles her eyebrows before she disappears inside again. 

Both Aziraphale and Crowley look concerned. 

"Give me those chocolates, Crowley," Aziraphale hisses quietly.

Crowley cocks an eyebrow. "But you'll spoil your experimental lunch."

"Demon, give me the chocolates this instant."

Crowley chuckles and makes a show of not giving in, but they both know he will. And he does. The demon produces the small box while looking over his shoulder suspiciously.

Aziraphale snatches it out of his hand faster than a gunslinging cowboy can draw a pistol. He opens it and nearly whimpers with a mixture of relief and delight. 

"Those look good even to me," Crowley murmurs.

Aziraphale looks up at his husband. He's yet to broach the subject of why Crowley doesn't eat and for some reason, now seems the right time.

"We can share then," Aziraphale tests while holding the open box before him for Crowley to partake.

There's a brief look of panic on the demon's face before he shrugs and reaches for a bonbon. Aziraphale can't believe it. That Crowley would still rather suffer the consequences than just tell him the truth. To please him.

Aziraphale smacks Crowley's hand before he can take a sweet and pulls the box to his chest protectively.

"Ow!" Crowley laughs.

"Unbelievable," Aziraphale admonishes.

Crowley must see something serious in Aziraphale's face because his smile fades. "What?"

The angel shakes his head, places the box down on the side table and takes Crowley's hand in his. "Dearest," he says gently as Crowley blushes at the endearment, "I know why you don't eat."

Crowley looks confused at first, but then he scowls and grumbles. "Angelique. Bless it."

"Come here, love," Aziraphale pats the empty places next to him on the bench he's occupying. "Please."

Crowley groans but does as asked. "I couldn't tell you, alright?!"

"Why is that?"

Crowley lets out a few aborted words before finally saying, "it's just like when you meet someone, and you forget their name, and you keep running into them. Next thing you know, you've become friends, and you still don't know the bloke's name, but you can't ask  _ now _ , a month into it right?!"

"That's the most absurd–"

"And you love to eat," Crowley finishes quickly. He's defensive and vulnerable, and Aziraphale needs to kiss him, so he does. After a long, slow kiss, they pull away, and Crowley sighs. "It was the only way I thought you'd spend time with me. Without the excuse of enjoying a meal, when would we have become friends? Plus, I rather enjoy watching you eat."

"As if I hadn't noticed."

Crowley turns a lovely shade of red. "Yeah, well. You should watch yourself some time. Downright sinful is what it is."

Aziraphale gives him a light shove. "Impossible. I'm an angel." They laugh at that nonsense together. The angel picks up the box of chocolates again and opens it. The aroma makes his mouth water. "Crowley?"

He finds Crowley watching him intently. "Yes," he drawls, a hunger in his eyes.

Aziraphale swallows as lust automatically rushes down below the belt. He clears his throat and gives the demon a dubious sideways glance. "Darling, have you considered that it wasn't God who punished you with this?"

Crowley rolls his eyes. "We've been through this, Aziraphale. I'm a demon. Punishment is practically in the job description."

"Yes, well, I don't think it's that black and white." Aziraphale muses quietly before speaking again. "We've learned a lot from Angelique and how her powers work. It's mostly, if not all, about self-actualising." He narrows his eyes and purses his lips, waiting for Crowley to catch his meaning.

"Are you saying, that I've done this to myself, because, angel, I can't even–"

Aziraphale turns toward his lover swiftly. "Think about it, Crowley. I couldn't sense your love until I told you I couldn't. You didn't even know! What if you've subconsciously cursed yourself? Do you feel any guilt over the whole apple debacle?"

"No!" Crowley declares defensively. After a moment of silence, his shoulders droop, and he looks exhausted. "Maybe." He sneers and snarls at himself. "I didn't know she was pregnant! Alright?! Yes. Yes, I felt shitty about being the reason she was kicked out. Homeless. Fuck, you might be right." He doesn't seem relieved at all.

"My love," Aziraphale says softly while he cups Crowley's face, "if it weren't for what you did, we wouldn't be here now." He kisses him tenderly. "Together."

"Damn right," Angelique adds while leaning against the doorway with their child on her hip. She approaches them and places Jesse on Crowley's lap who immediately embraces him.

"Da's silly," Jesse pipes up.

They all giggle, and Crowley is visibly fighting tears. Aziraphale takes a chocolate and lifts it up in front of Crowley's face. Jesse already has predatory eyes on it so Aziraphale places it in Jesse's hands. 

"Sweetling," Aziraphale gives his best pout, "why don't you give Da the first bite? You can have the next one."

Jesse seems to be deep in thought but quickly nods. The tiny hand grasping the piece of chocolate lifts to Crowley's mouth.

Crowley looks at all three of them before he stares at the sweet with frightened eyes. They all give him an encouraging smile. Angelique places a hand on his shoulder while Aziraphale places his on Crowley's knee. 

Crowley closes his eyes and opens his mouth before Jesse places it gently on his tongue. He shuts his eyes hard at the same time he closes his mouth.

Everyone waits, not daring to move, gazing intently for any sign of disappointment or disgust. But none come. 

"MMmmm!" Crowley chews and opens his eyes wide in disbelief. "'oly 'it!" He says through a mouthful of chocolate. "So 'ood! Mm!"

They cheer and laugh at their victory. There may have been tears too, but who cares? It's no surprise that they spoiled their lunch after that. Which Aziraphale is grateful for because it's also no surprise that Angelique's  _ experiment _ is Godawful. Even Crowley, with new taste buds and all, agrees it's revolting. They don't dare tell their wife that though. They aren't idiots after all. 

Well, not much of idiots anymore, anyway.

"You know," Aziraphale declares before they start up the music in the parlour, "I thought we could try something a bit different tonight."

"Oh?" 

"What are you thinking, Angel?

"What would you all say to dancing... the  _ Gavotte _ ?"

  
_THE END._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My goodness! Thank you all SO much for all of the support in the comments, messages and kudos (and the ko-fi's I've gotten so far have left me speechless. THANK YOU!)!
> 
> What's next?! I'm going to finish Searlus and the Sailor first since I'm only a chapter or two away. Then I'm going to finish a Beetlejuice Oneshot that I started last year. THEN, I will outline a Good Omens Human AU based on "The Shop Around the Corner." :D I think I might simultaneously work on my Harry Potter fic that has been left to rot. But I keep saying that so... lol we will see!

**Author's Note:**

> Help me self-publish by buying me a coffee: [Ko-fi](https://ko-fi.com/mordellestories)
> 
> Want early access to all my work including this one? Go to my [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/mordellestories/) and comment on any post with "add me!"
> 
> [Here's my tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/mordellestories)!
> 
> Read my other fanfic here: 
> 
> [Good Omens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mordelle/works?fandom_id=27251507)
> 
> [Beetlejuice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mordelle/works?fandom_id=2763282)
> 
> [Beauty and the Beast ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18483799/chapters/43797364)


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